The Ancient and Most Noble House of Prewett
by SimplySwooningK
Summary: All is not well. A new prophecy throws the Wizarding World into darkness despair and danger. Being an Auror has never been more difficult or deadly...as an ancient secret comes to light, Ron Weasley finds the answers to this one aren't necessarily as close as his best mate's scar. No, they may just be much closer. Rated M for language, sexual content and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings, I'm Kay. And I'm a silent member of the HP fandom who has decided to be silent no more. I'm just going to say this now Ronmione is my OTP, Weasley is my king and any Ron haters can come at me if they dare, they will get chopped. That being said, I'm respectful of other fandoms and hope they will be respectful of me. I plan on flooding the net with Romione as this is just the first of many stories I have planned includign a Slytherin Ron Anthology and the almost required time travel fix it fic. That being said, I'll delay no more. Onward with the story. Please review**. **AU: As for the italics, that is the motto of the House of Prewett which translates into Victorious are the Valiant.**

 **The Ancient and Most Noble House of Prewett**

 **May 2003**

 **Prologue**

 **The Secret of The Dark Lord**

All Seers were a little eccentric, that Dana Bennett, Headmistress of Ivermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, knew undoubtedly. But Sybil Trelawny was an entirely special case. The woman had spent the last two hours playing with a jar of mayonnaise.

This was the woman who had predicted the prophecies of the Dark Lord and the Chosen One? This bumbling mass of confusion held an Order of Merlin, second class? Well, oh my stars and garners, Dana thought with no little amusement.

Sybil Trelawny was in America as a special guest lecturer. The students of Ivermorny were clearly intrigued and clearly befuddled by the bumbling, dramatic and blustery teacher.

She approached the podium, numerous bracelets and rings jingling as she made very measured steps as if the floor was jinxed with a Sticking Charm. Her eyes blinked out of her massive glasses and sucked in several loud breaths. The young American and Canadian students looked skeptical but interested.

"I am Sybil Trelawny," she screeched into the mic. "I am here to help you discover your Inner Eye, but not just discover it, allow it to flourish, expand and soar into the future," her tone got louder and shriller as she spoke. Several students flinched. But if the Good Seer noticed, she did not let on. "It was not for naught that I was the one who spoke the Dual Prophecies of the Dark Lord and his defeater, the Chosen One. It was because of my years of dedication and practice that my Inner Eye saw what no one else could not. It was because—," Sybil Trelawny stopped shortly.

At first, everyone thought she was just pausing for dramatic effect which she had done several times already. However, after 90 seconds had gone by, everyone was staring wide-eyed at the Divination professor who was clearly somewhere…else.

Then in a high tone (unnatural even for her) she began to speak.

"Five seasons after the Dark Lord's Defeat, his buried secret will be revealed set out to finish what the Evil Master began. Darkness shall rise again from the roots of those who vanquished it, from that which was thought vanquished."

Professor Trelawny came out of her trance and opened her eyes to a sea of astonished faces. Headmistress Bennett's mouth hang open freely as did the rest of the room.

"So sorry, what was I saying?" she said after clearing her throat. "Yes, the Inner Eye. One must develop it, one must concentrate it."

No one in the audience heard a word Sybil Trelawny heard after that, but her ability as a Seer was never questioned in America again.

 _~Vicit es Validum~_

Chapter One

It Wasn't Enough

Molly Weasley tucked her wand safely into her coat pocket and made sure none of her flowers had been damaged during her Apparation. The outskirts of her hometown of Treverbyn, Cornwall could never be completely foreign to her, but it had been a very long time since she'd spent any significant amount of time there.

Treverbyn had long been a haven to the Wizarding World with numerous prominent wizarding families living there. The Prewett family had lived there for generations after generations…until they didn't.

Tears filled her eyes as she stepped down the lane that led to Rubrum, the familial seat of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Prewett. The ancient large county estate had sat empty for years since the end of the First Wizarding War. Her parents had gone into hiding, leaving the house in their sons' care as a safehouse during those dark days.

The Wards that protected the House during the war only allowed Prewetts to enter the grounds and no one but the heir to the House of Prewett could open the house. That had been a special Ward that Gideon Prewett placed on the property shortly before his death.

Molly had always thought that with his and Fabian's deaths, the ward should've disappeared as she was now the heir. Her parents had tried to open it but without success. Instead, the house remained Imperturbable. They'd been unable to open it for twenty years. She had no intention of attempting to this day. The same was true of the Prewett vault at Gringotts. She had never wanted for anything as a child, but she was unaware of what the vault contained. After the war, her parents had been unable to access the vault. The key had been lost and could not be opened by magic because of the ward Gideon had placed over it. She knew not why and had never really had time to wonder. But now, she could set Bill to work on it.

This day was the 22nd anniversary of her brothers' death, and she was there, as she always was, to place flowers on their graves and to mourn her family. Her parents had outlived both of their sons and her mother had nearly outlived one of her grandchildren as she had died just before the Second Wizarding War had broke out.

In peacetime, sons bury mothers. In wartime, mothers bury sons. It was a dark bit of irony Molly knew all too well. She had watched her mother bury her sons, never imaging that in the not too distant future, she would have to bury one of her own.

These were the dark thoughts plaguing Molly Weasley as she approached the family cemetery that had held her ancestors for centuries. She, when her time came, of course would lie in the Weasley cemetery, between her husband and Fred. She could not hold back the tears that came then. Her son lying dead, her greatest fear realized.

Granted, she had five sons and a daughter to help remember him, but the anguish would never truly go away.

She would not be going to Fred's grave this day. That was reserved for his birthday and the anniversary of his death. It was a day where the Wizarding World celebrated and mourned.

Darkness had been vanquished but at a price. Fabian, Gideon, James, Lily, Sirius, Ted, Tonks, Fred. The losses were immeasurable, yet so was the victory.

The Dark Lord was gone and all was well.

All had been well for five years and Molly had just begun to find her peace. She was focusing on her role as mother and now grandmother. In five years, she had three grandchildren, Victoire, Fred, Molly (her namesake). All but one of her children were married and settled. And if she had anything to say about it, Charlie would be wed soon.

She hoped one day she'd be able to bring her children and grandchildren to her family home. She suddenly remembered that her son was a curse-breaker. She should have him go to work on that immediately. Why she'd never thought of that, she couldn't reconcile. But she placed the flowers on her brother's graves, ready to leave the past and return to the future.

As she always did, she turned to take one look back at her family estate. She was just about to turn away, when she could've sworn she saw a light on in the upstairs window, the one that had once held her father's study. .

In an instant, it was gone. Molly shook her head. She really did need to return to the present.

Sunday nights at the Burrow were always anything but calm. This was no exception. Ron Weasley looked around, surveying the scene of his extended family and he didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

Hermione and Percy were arguing about the Ministry, George and Bill were arguing about appropriate curses to sell in a joke shop, Harry and Ginny had been having a domestic about their work schedules and weren't speaking to one another, Molly was pestering Charlie about getting married, Angelina and Fleur were exchanging baby talk, and Teddy and Fred were chasing Victoire and Little Molly around the living room.

Ron and Arthur sat quietly in the corner, slowly sipping Firewhiskey and taking in the scene. It was chaotic, noisy and happy.

This is why we fought, Ron thought with a contented sigh. So we could have this.

After the war, Ron and his dad had gotten extremely close. Not that they weren't always, but Arthur knew Ron had always felt overshadowed and unappreciated. If only his youngest son had known how far that was from the truth. It was hard not to compare your children when you had seven of them.

There was Bill, the firstborn, Charlie, the rebel, Percy, the perfectionist, Fred and George, the troublemakers, Ginny, the girl and then there was Ron, the bravest and most accomplished, the most loyal, and in some ways the strongest. Despite all that, Ron was the most insecure.

Arthur knowing his children knew well, knew that none of the others, even if they had been best friends with the Chosen One would've gone on the run for months, faced danger after danger without even stopping to think about it. None of them but Ron. Despite the fact that all the Weasleys were Gryffindors through and through, Arthur knew with certainty that Ron, eager to prove himself, yet loyal to a fault would be the only to ever make the sacrifices he'd made.

Which was one of the first things Arthur had told his youngest son as soon as the dust had settled after the War.

"It's good to be home, innit?" Arthur asked as he swirled his Firewhiskey in his glass.

"It's wonderful," Ron said with a sigh. He and Harry had just gotten off from a rather nasty mission involving cursed galleons.

"Got some time off, have you?"

"Three weeks," Ron replied with a happy sigh. "'Mione and I heading up to Provence." Ron honestly couldn't wait. The Auor Office had been extremely busy, the shop had been just a few notches behind. Ron could use some rest and some alone time with his beloved.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Percy!" snapped Hermione, catching everyone's attention. "It's that kind of backwards thinking that got the whole Ministry divided."

"Hermione, if the centaurs are allowed roles in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, half the Aurors will resign," Percy replied importantly.

"I highly doubt they're going to give up their livelihoods to make a point."

"They will if the point is Centaurs should not be their coworkers."

"And why not?" Hermione demanded. "They proved themselves invaluable during the War. Saved so many lives, fought by our sides. And their sensible nature makes them prime candidates for the Department of Magical Law. All I want to know is if there is a way for the Department of Magical Transportation to get them in and out of London safely? If a Portkey could be set up that goes back to their territories? "

"You're mad, you are," Percy said finally. "No will ever agree to it. Ron, would you tell her please."

 _Fuck_ , Ron thought as Hermione's big brown eyes turned towards him, along with every other eye in the family. Even the toddlers seemed to be staring at him. He could see Harry suppressing a grin, obviously glad the heated topic hadn't been thrown his way. The specky git.

Ron thought for a split second. Both of them had a point. Percy was right about the Aurors not wanting to share the glory of Magical Law Enforcement with Centaurs. Hermione was right about their usefulness to an extent. He didn't know how they'd get on with interrogations and investigating, but they could have some benefits when it came to actual captures.

"Well," he began, but he stopped because the sound of an Apparation outside made them all turn to the door. Kingsley Shackelbolt was at the door.

Molly hurried to open it, she threw her arms around Kingsley who warmly returned the hug, but Ron could see from his eyes that this was not a social visit.

"Molly, Arthur, forgive me for intruding."

"Kingsley, you know you're always welcome here," Molly said.

"A firewhiskey, Kingsley?" Arthur asked.

"In a moment, perhaps," Kingsley said and his eyes fell on Harry, Ron and Hermione in turn.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione, a word please?" he asked motioning upstairs.

Hermione's eyebrows raised and she looked at her husband, who merely shrugged. "Of course, Kingsley," he said and the four of them darted off to Ron's room.

No longer a shrine to Chudley Cannons, it was now a shrine to Ron himself with Molly having every article, every chocolate frog card, everything she could find about Ron's heroics during the war and his accomplishments since hanging in the room.

First and foremost was the portrait of the day Ron, Harry and Hermione had received their Orders of Merlin, First Class. The picture Ron, Harry and Hermione all looked at their counterparts when they walked in the room.

Once the door was closed, Kinglsey Shielded it. Clearly, he didn't want anyone else hearing their conversation and knowing the Weasleys as he did, he figured they were trying to figure out a way to hear the conversation.

"What I am about to tell you," Kingsley began with a very serious tone. "is of the upmost importance and does not leave this room. Am I understood?"

All three of them straightened their shoulders. "Yes," they said almost in unison.

"There has been a murder, two murders to be precise. Dean Thomas and Alexa Scrimengeour are dead."

Hermione let out a gasp in shock. Alexa Scrimengeour, the widow of Rufus Scrimengeour was a highly influential witch, a member of the Wizengamot and worked with Hermione the Magical Creatures department. And as for Dean, Dean who had been their friend, their roommate, Dean who had fought by their side. She almost couldn't believe it. She didn't want to believe it. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

She turned to Ron who looked equally grim and horrified, he wrapped an arm around her pulling her close. "Kingsley," he said, before clearing his throat. "Why can't we leave this room? Why is it a secret?" he asked. Something else was going on, something Ron wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

Kingsley hesitated. Whatever it was, it was weighing on him. The disturbing look in his eyes unsettled them. "They were both found with Dark Marks burned into the forehead."

Three pairs of eyes widened in horror. Hermione and Ron turned on Harry.

"Has your scar been hurting?" they both asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, not in years," he assured them. Of course, that only left them with questions. "Voldemort's dead."

Harry wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or his friends. But he was sure of it. He'd watched Voldemort die. He'd seen them bury his body. He'd watched as Kingsley had snapped his wand in too. And he and Ron had spent the last few years rounding up all the Death Eater's that had escaped. Some still eluded. But to execute

"This has got to be Death Eaters," Ron said, his acute tactical mind already trying to see the opponents. Maybe McNair? He was last spotted in Romania."

Kingsley shook his head. "It's too early to say. But we wanted to inform the three of you right away. In case, well, in case it's starting again."

"No," Hermione said vehemently. "It can't be starting again."

Kingsley looked agitated, his shoulders seemed to sag. "There's something else. Sybil Trelawney was at Ivermorny this morning," the dread in his voice was evident as he continued. "She made a prophecy."

"So what?" scoffed Hermione. She makes prophecies everyday, most of them are complete rubbish."

"Most," Kingsley agreed. "But not this one. I had the vials of the memory of one of the witnesses brought over by an American Auror."

The weathered Ministry of Magic pulled out a small glass vial and placed it on a nearby shelf. From his robes he pulled out a small metal disk, which as soon as he placed on the desk, it grew twice its size.

"I think all of you need to see this."

Harry hesitated. He did not have fond memories of Penseieves. Whatever it was, he was positive he didn't want to know.

Ron, wanting the whole bloody thing over with as quickly as possible, stalked over to the desk, grabbed the vial from the shelf and poured it in.

"Come on, then," he said looking at the other two. "The sooner we see it, the sooner we don't have to look at it again."

Hermione nodded in agreement and walked over to it. She automatically grabbed Ron's hand, knowing that whatever it was, whatever she was about to see, it would feel colossally worse if she didn't have him beside her.

Harry advanced on it last, a grim, haunted look taking over his face. There were few people in the whole of Wizarding Britain as haunted by the events of the Second Wizarding War than him. Burdened with a never-ending guilt and a limelight that would probably never die, Harry couldn't have been more apprehensive. But Ron was right. The sooner they knew, the sooner they could take action.

Just as they had entered the into the trap door on their first adventure so many years ago, they did it together.

They found themselves floating and landing quickly into the auditorium of Ivermorney School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. All three had been there before to give speeches and testimonials.

That was why Professor Trelwany had been there to begin with.

As they listened to her begin to talk, Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It's rubbish." But before the words were out of her mouth, all three of them noticed Trelanwy's tone chaging, her eyes rolling back and the words spilling forth from her.

A cold, sharp shiver went through Harry's spine. The Dark Lord's Secret? The Dark Lord's Secret? How many fucking secrets did the Dark Lord have? Seven horcruxes wasn't enough.

Harry jumped out of the Penseieve with a jolt. "No," was the only word that left his lips. Hermione and Ron followed both looking shocked, alarmed and angry.

"Oh, my god," Hermione said, her eyes filling with tears. "What secret? What was vanquished?"

"Why are these things always so fucking vague?" Ron said darkly.

Kingsley shrugged as if were nothing important but they all knew it was most likely because he didn't know what to do. "At this point, we can only speculate. But that's why we need the three of you. During the war, did you ever hear anything about a buried secret?"

Before anyone else could say anything a silvery figure in the shape of a raven came bursting through the room. "Kingsley, we need you here right away."

"I've got to go," Kingsley said with a deep sigh. "Alan, Alexa's son, he's in America. He'll be here soon. I've got to do what I can to keep this out of the Prophet. In the meantime, Harry, Ron, get over to the office. I'll have someone escort you to the crime scene. As soon as you can, the three of you should think about what you did during the war. Something that you didn't think was relevant in the Inquiry."

All three bristled at that. The Inquiry Into the Secret Mission of the Second Wizarding War, as it was officially known had been an official session the newly rebuilt Wizgemanot after the War.

All three of them had to testify about what they'd been doing during the War. Everything from their mission from Dumbledore to the Battle of Hogwarts. Some details they omitted, some they had no choice but to divulge. Professor Slughorn was called on to testify, as were the portraits of Dumbledore and Snape. Lucius and Narcissa had also testified.

"We will," Harry said finally, glancing at the pained expressions on his two friends' faces. The War was a sensitive subject for all of them.

With that, the four wizards walked back down the stairs.

Kingsley put on a large smile. "Well, I've got to be going," he said clapping Arthur on the shoulder.

"So soon?" Arthur said, glancing at his son who was silent and had a faraway look in his eyes that mirrored the expression on his son and daughter-in-law's faces.

"I'm afraid so, Arthur. I'll see you at work. Harry, Ron, I'll see you in a moment."

With that, the Minster of Magic disappeared with a pop, leaving a room full of Weasleys with nothing but curiosity and the slightest bit of alarm.

Ginny was at Harry's side in an instant, the row they'd been having completely forgotten. "Harry, what's going on?"

Harry looked at his wife, her eyes expecting and earnest, her hand placed firmly on his shoulder. "I'm sorry Gin," he said after a long pause. "I can't say."

Ginny's eyes flashed. "You can't say?" Her incredulity was apparent. It was no secret that she always felt outside of the Triangle Harry, Ron and Hermione had formed. They didn't exclude her on purpose (anymore) but it was undeniable that the three of them forged a bond that no one else could be a part of or truly understand.

"It's Ministry Stuff," Hermione said soothingly. She was the most aware of how Ginny felt and did everything she could to combat it. On this instance, however, her hands were tied.

"Everything all right?" Bill asked, sensing the tension in the room.

"Of course," Ron said. "Harry and I just have to go somewhere."

Ron didn't like the fact that he'd gotten very adept at lying. Of course, if there was another war on the horizon, it wouldn't be a secret for too long.

Ron kissed Hermione goodbye slightly longer than he would've normally. He could tell by the look in her eyes that her brain was already going through everything, every experience, every second of the Horcrux Hunt. He knew, because he was too.

"Ron," Harry said once they bid the Weasley clan goodbye and arrived outside of the Ministry. "Do you think it could be happening again? I mean, it can't be happening again. This is all some sick joke some twisted ex Death Eater came up with and we're gonna square it away. Because it can't be happening again. It just can't. I mean all that we did during the war, and everything we've done since."

Ron shook his head grimly as they stepped into the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. Everyone in the department seemed to be in a frenzy.

"Apparently," he said finally. "It wasn't enough."


	2. Chapter 2: Evil Enough

**I'd like to think everyone that has taken the time to read this story and a special thanks for anyone who has left feedback. Please don't stop. Feedback is the food of updates. Trust me when I say I hate unfinished fanfictions more than Barty Crouch Jr. Hates Death Eaters that got away, so believe me, I'll finish it, but only if I know someone other than myself is enjoying it. Onwards and upwards (Note: this chapter contains strong sexual content)**

Evil Enough

For Harry, nothing was worse than the crime scene. It was the thing he hated most about being an Auror. He could tell that the place had once held life and now it was completely devoid of it. All the light had been drained out of what he knew to had once been a happy home. Somehow, the air even seemed to taste of darkness. A place which had once been a warm sanctuary was now frozen, almost stupefied in a strangling horror that would never let air in again.

What was worse was that he knew this place. He'd been there constantly over the years, watching Quidditch matches with Dean and Ron and Seamus; he'd been there less than three weeks earlier celebrating Dean's engagement to Padma Patil. Now everything looked grey and broken and lifeless. There was no Wizard Wireless in the background, no glowing green fire that any of their mates could pop through at any time. The only sounds were being made by the Aurors, their shuffling feet and quills running across notepads as they were all too stricken to speak.

Martin Weverson, an Auror in his mid-thirties greeted Ron and Harry. "It's not a pretty sight," he warned them.

"They never are," Ron said with a sigh. He thought about the 86,435 Galleons he now had saved up in Gringotts. He thought about the Vintage Firebolt Hermione had gotten him for their anniversary. He finally understood the saying "everything I own." he literally would've given everything in his possesion not to be standing where he was.

They walked into the neat little house. It would never be a home again, not to Ron, not to anyone who knew what it had once been.

Dean was lying on his back in the kitchen. His body was still, his left hand was clenched, almost as if he was still holding something.

A volcanic eruption of boiling rage filled Ron's veins as he glanced at Dean's face, once light with mirth, twisted and contorted with fear and terror. But his expression was nothing compared to the mark that had been neatly cauterized into his forehead.

It was the only injury he had to his body. There was no blood so clearly the wound had been made after he died, a final taunt, a lasting disgrace.

"When we find who did this," said Harry in a whisper, his sharp tone cutting through Ron's thoughts. "I'll kill them with my bare hands."

"Not if I beat you to it," Ron told him, meaning every single word. Death was almost too good for whoever did this.

"Where's Padma?" Harry asked, Rachel Corrie, the Healer Pathologist who unfurling a sheet with her wand to cover the body.

"I had to give her Dreamless Sleep, she was so hysterical."

Ron was aghast "You gave Dreamless Sleep to a witness? Are you mental?"

"Hold your hippogriffs, Lucoazade," she rebuffed quickly. "Padma didn't witness anything, she found him."

"Still, we're going to need to take her statement," Harry explained.

"You can when she wakes up."

"You sure it was the Killing Curse?" Ron asked.

"Positive."

"The Ministry should be able to trace whatever wand has cast an Unforgivable," Ron said to Harry.

"Unless they used Wandless Magic," Harry pointed out.

"Can you do Unforgiveables without a wand?"

"Probably, if you're evil enough."

Ron took one last glance at Dean. "Whoever did this most certainly was."

~Vicit es Validum~

Three hours later, Ron arrived at the flat in King's Cross he and Hermione had made their home for the last few years. He didn't know how to process what he had just seen or how to even begin deciphering what any of it meant.

The worst part was how familiar it all was. Suddenly the war wasn't five years old, it wasn't five seconds old. It had never ended

Dark Marks, not in the sky, but branded onto the victims' foreheads. That was new, but not new enough. Both of the victims had been hit with the Killing Curse, that much was obvious.

Ron pushed the sight of Dean lying there on the ground out of his mind. It was hard to do. Dean who had been his friend, his roommate, and who had been so full of life with all his Muggle sayings and habits. All the light gone from his eyes, all the color drained from his face.

Ron shuddered at the thought. He had been fighting back tears (not to mention bile and terror) ever since.

Voldemort was dead. They'd all saw him die. Ron had been there when they buried his body, Ron had personally destroyed one of his Horcruxes and had witnessed another being destroyed.

Another prophecy, another secret of Voldemort that they had to unravel. "Fuck," he said aloud as he Apparated into his flat.

"What?" Hermione said with a jump. As he expected, she was at the kitchen table, poring over the diaries she'd kept throughout their sixth year and the Horcrux Hunt. In front of her was a piece of paper, the new prophecy scrawled out in her handwriting.

He looked at, her busy hair pulled into a bun, her deep brown eyes weary with anxiety, nervously biting her lip as she looked up at him expectantly. He had never wanted to be near her more.

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of her, pulling her out of her chair and pulling her into his arms. Their eyes met briefly, before their lips followed suit. They kissed gently at first, lightly and briefly. They pulled apart for a second before diving into a hungry, incessant kiss.

Ron reveled in the taste of Hermione, the lavender scent of her hair, the chamomile and honey tea on her lips, the subtle berry scent of the perfume she'd put on hours earlier. He buried one hand in her hand, gently cupping her curls and one around her waist pulling her closer to him.

She returned in kind, her hands clasped tightly around his neck, not wanting to let go, not wanting to break free. Their lips played over each other's until the need for oxygen finally broke them apart. Hermione rested her head on Ron shoulder, unwilling to break their connection completely. His arms went to her waist.

"Hi," he said finally after a moment of holding each other in silence.

She smiled as she inhaled his scent. "How bad is it?" she asked, although she already knew.

Ron simply shook his head, words failing him at the sights he'd just witnessed.

"I can't believe this," she whispered softly. "This was supposed to be over. We ended it."

"We don't know that it's starting again."

"Ron, you heard Trelawney."

"Wasn't it you said that most of what she says is rubbish?"

"Yes, but she's never gotten a prophecy about Voldemort wrong, has she?"

Ron's only response was to grip Hermione tighter and bury his nose in her hair.

"How's Harry?"

"Brooding, unsucessfully hiding his rage and his fear. He didn't say much. We're supposed to meet with Kingsley tomorrow. He wants you there too. Anything in your diary?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing. All it is Horcruxes. Never once was there anything about a secret."

"Well, it is Voldemort. It was in his nature to be seven steps ahead of everyone else."

"You don't think he's back from the dead?" There was a hint of fear in Hermione's voice. Ron gently ran his hands over the lengths of her arms and shook his head.

"Even in our world, that's not possible. Then again, if anyone could, it would've been him."

"I've been going over the prophecy," she admitted, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck.

"And?"

"It's maddening. I can't make sense of it."

"Well, talk me through what you've got."

"The first part is simple enough, 'five seasons after'. It's been five years. Then 'The Dark Lord's defeat'. I don't think Voldemort is back from the dead. I think this something he put in motion a long time ago."

"'A buried secret?'"

"Exactly. Set out to finish what Voldemort started. That part is obvious. People are already dying. The rest of it doesn't make sense though. 'Darkness shall rise from the roots of those who vanquished it, from what was thought vanquished."

"Well, wouldn't exactly expect Trelawney to give us a map, would we?"

"Ron, Harry vanquished Voldemort."

"Right, yeah."

"So from the roots of Harry? What is that supposed to mean, his parents? His parents aren't _**thought**_ to be vanquished, they're dead. They _**are**_ vanquished."

Ron shook his head. "Don't strain yourself right now, love. It's too much for the moment. We'll talk about what it could possibly mean tomorrow. Whatever it is, whatever it means, we'll fight. And we'll win."

"You sound so sure."

"I've got you."

Hermione smiled up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips, one which he quickly deepened, pushing his tongue into her mouth, gripping her hips tighter with his fingertips. Hermione lost herself in the kiss, running her fingers through his hair, and down the back of his neck. A shudder went through her when she felt Ron's hands riding up her waist to her shoulder blades and back again. The thin loose sweater she was wearing seemed to vanish as his fingers gently ran over her arms and back again before settling on her waist again.

Ron felt a stirring of arousal deep within him even though he knew they should've been talking about the war, the Horcrux Hunt, but at that moment, he really couldn't care less. He broke the kiss only blaze to a trail of kisses down her neck and her collarbone. She moaned softly as he peppered her with kisses, each touch sending a jolt to her center.

Ron worked his way back up to her lips, locking them in a hungry kiss and his hands roamed up to her breasts, cupping them through her thin t-shirt, flattening them against him palm, and kneading her nipples with his fingers until they were hard as pebbles. He broke the kiss only to pull the shirt off of her.

He stared at for a second at her in the white light of their kitchen, shirtless, nipples growing harder from the air, her chest heaving from their kiss. His arousal for her was evident, his hard cock tenting his jeans. There were times when he could not believe this beautiful, sexy-as-fuck witch was his. But she was, as he planned on reminding her.

He pulled the clip that held her hair in place, letting her hair fall around her. She suddenly looked much younger and he couldn't wait to devour her. He pulled off his own shirt and pulled her flush against him, they both moaned at the contact as they dove in for a hard, tongue-fueled kiss, she Apparated them to their bedroom.

As he carried them over to their bed, Hermione quickly cast contraceptive charms as the beginning of a new war was no time to think about children. But she quickly stamped down that disquieting thought and focused on snogging her husband senseless.

Ron dropped her on the bed and kicked off his jeans. His need for her was overwhelming and Hermione was barely containing her desire for him, her hands grasping for every inch of bare skin she could reach, before finally yanking him down on top of her.

He sucked in a breath as he felt her bare breasts up against his chest. Her lips eagerly sought his as she wrapped her hands around his neck. He pulled his lips away to plant a soft kiss on her earlobe, stoking the fire into an inferno as she shuddered underneath him. Another lone kiss to her cheek, another to her chin, one to each side of her neck, a gentle nuzzle into her collarbone, a lingering nibble on the base of her neck, gently marking the flesh with his lips.

She moaned quietly when his lips descended downward between her breasts to lather the soft skin there with insistent kisses. There was more than raging lust behind his assault (although there was plenty of that), he couldn't seem to stop touching her for an a second, as if he couldn't bear to be parted from her. His mouth made it way to the base of her breast, slowly pressing soft kisses that elicited soft, shuddering sighs from Hermione.

"Ron," she gasped as his mouth hovered over her breasts, tongue swirling over her nipple sending jolts of pleasure right through her core.

Meanwhile his fingers settled between her open thighs, gently pressing and pawing their way up to her throbbing, soaking center. "Oh god, Ron," she moaned as her fingers gripped the sheets. His long index finger rubbed slow circles around her clit, causing her to moan and quake.

"Oh god, Ron, please," she squeaked out as she felt a coil of desire tighten within her, the dam threatening to burst.

"Please what, love?" he asked as his long middle finger dove into her pulsing heat and pulled out only to thrust back in again and again and again.

He knew very well what she was asking for, but something in him wanted to drag this out.

"Please, now," Hermione said again, her words failing her. Ron prided himself on being the only one who really could get her to shut up sometimes.

"Now," Ron agreed as he quickly rid himself of his boxers and settled between her open thighs. He gripped his erection and brushed the tip of his cock against her clit and Hermione let out a loud, raspy moan in reply. "Ron, Ron, god," she moaned as she arched off the bed, nearly going over the edge then and there.

Ron, unable to wait any longer, positioned himself at her sopping entrance and slowly slid the tip of his thick cock into her wet, tight folds. He groaned in pleasure as the head of his cock slid past her lips into her searing tightness. He stilled for a moment, causing her to moan in impatience before inching forward slightly and stopping again, relishing in the feel of his wife.

Hermione shuddered as he slowly, tortuously filled her center. Inch by inch, his thick, long cock stretched her walls. When he finally filled her to the hilt, she sighed, glorying in the feel of having him as close as he could be. He drew out, just as slowly, savoring her, loving the feel of her walls constricting and squeezing around him. The possessive side of him couldn't help but smile at the fact that he was the only one who had ever had her, the only one that ever would.

He'd die before he let anyone harm her. No Death Eaters were getting their hands on her this time. Their eyes met, his normally azure eyes were almost navy due to the desire coursing through them. Her eyes were wide and dark as a raven's feather as their lips met in a sweltering kiss. His tongue thrusting into her mouth as he thrusted his cock into her center.

Mine, he thought as he slammed into her, quicker, taking her by surprise, causing her to gasp loudly and rise up to meet his thrust.

"Fuck, Mione," he said as he thrusted into her again, loosing his need to tease her and beginning to thrust much more quickly, pistoning his hips into hers, pounding her into the mattress over and over and over.

Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in even deeper as she lost herself to the warm pressure building up in her core. She moaned his name and several other things that she never said anywhere else.

Ron, feeling his release building up on him, reached down between them and rubbed swift, fast circles over her clit, pushing over the edge, her walls tightenting around him as he followed suit, burying himself inside her before emptying his release.

"Fuck," she moaned as he rolled off of her, before pulling her on top of him.

"I'll say," he mumbled as he planted a soft kiss on her neck.

The mood, once charged with adrenaline and lust turned back to an eerie calm, like one before a raging storm. They looked at each other for a long moment, almost afraid to look away.

"Everything's going to be fine," Ron said attemping so stay their unspoken fears.

"Who are you trying to convince, me or you?" she asked, knowingly, placing her head on his chest.

"Both of us, I guess." He sighed, running his fingers through the ends of her hair. "We're in for a couple of long weeks at work."

Hermione agreed, but didn't want to think about that at the moment. An impish grin covered her features, a look she'd stolen from him. "Well, I can't promise you a good night's sleep tonight, because I'm not through with you, Mr. Weasley."

And with that, she dove in for another kiss. Tomorrow's worries could wait.

Meanwhile in a cozy corner of Godric's Hollow, Harry Potter was receiving a less warm homecoming. Ginny was already in bed when he got home. She wasn't alseep, thta he could tell. But she was clearly bent on soundly ignoring him.

"Gin," he tried. There was no answer. Ginny took Weasley stubborness to a new level. And that was saying something. He sighed, sitting on his bed, knowing that she was upset. She'd been upset before. Being married to an extremely famous Auror had it challenges, especially when you were a busy professional Quidditch player.

Lately their work had been taking them away from each other, something neither of them were happy about, but had yet to figure out a resolution.

"Ginny, you know I can't discuss these things outside of the Ministry."

Ginny didn't reply, but he could see her shoulders stiffen.

"I don't keep it confidential because I want to," he said, a pleading edge entering into his voice.

"I know," she said softly. "I'm your wife, Harry. Ron tells Hermione everything."

"Hermione works for the Ministry, she's bound to find out sooner or later. Besides, we have to keep her in the loop, smart as she is, she'll be the one to figure the whole thing out." Harry winced, realizing too late how that sounded.

"Oh, I'm not smart enough to be included? I'm not important enough to be included."

"That's not what I meant," he backtracked quickly.

"Just what you said. I'm not part of the Sacred Triangle. I didn't go on a bloody Horcrux Hunt."

"Gin," Harry said, recognizing the start of a fight they'd had a hundred times before. "Trust me, it wasn't somewhere you wanted to be."

"You never want me with you."

"Don't be ridiculous. I always want you with me."

"But you always leave me behind."

"Because it's dangerous. Because I want the thing that means the most the furthest away from the danger."

"Harry, I'm your wife. What happens to you happens to me. I'm your wife," Ginny said, a surge of anger filling her voice. She still hadn't looked at him. He sighed, knowing he really only had one option.

"I know. Besides, I've decided to tell you what I can. Anyway, we can't keep what's going on secret very long."

Ginny shot up at that, turning around, a worried expression across her features.

"What is it? Did something bad happen?"

Harry hesitated. He had several reasons for telling Ginny. One, the shitstorm he'd be in once she found out what was going, two, he was sure that if he told her what he could she'd be much more receptive of his future proposal, and three, she deserved to know. Not only because of Dean, but because she was right, she was his wife.

He took her hand in his, interweaving their fingers. "Gin, Dean's dead."

Ginny's normally rosy cheeks went white with shock. "What?" she stammered.

"He...he was killed. By what...who...we don't know. But he had a Dark Mark...burned into his forehead."

Ginny's huge hazel eyes filled with tears, but she didn't speak. She swiped quickly at her face. "No, Harry, it can't be...," she didn't dare finish her sentence. Dean was dead? She couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't be.

"Gin, I'm sorry. I know."

"What's going on? What did Kingsley say?"

"Not much, Alexa Scrimengeour was killed too. It's bad, Gin."

Ginny looked down at the duvet on the bed, seeming to want to melt into in, to be anywhere but where she was. "We were supposed to be done with this."

"I know."

Harry shook his head. "Listen, maybe, maybe you should consider..."

"Consider what?" Ginny prodded, noticing the change in his tone.

"Going to stay with Charlie for a bit."

All the color came back to Ginny's face as she turned as red as her hair. "What, you mean skulk off and hide, while the three of you jet and off and be heroes again? Is that what you're suggesting, Harry Potter?"

"This isn't about being heroes and you know it. This is about keeping you safe. Ginny, you're my wife. And whatever's going on, I'm bound to be in the middle of it. I don't want to be there."

Ginny didn't respond. There was lot she wanted to say, but she didn't want to have the argument right now. "We'll talk about it later," she said, turning around and lying back down. "You've got enough to think about at the moment."

How right she was. Harry didn't respond. He simply kissed her cheek and prepared to go to bed, hoping the morning would bring answers and not more horrors.

~Vicit es Validum~

Some things it seemed would not wait for sunrise. At approximately three fifteen in the morning, Ron and Hermione were awoken by Kingsley's Patronus dashing into their room and telling them they needed to get to his office right away.

They quickly got dressed and Flooed into Hermione's office before heading to Kinglsey's.

They entered the elevator to find Harry already on his way up.

"Did he tell you what was going on?" Ron asked his old friend, wasting no time on greetings.

Harry shook his head, trying to push Ginny out of his mind. She'd been upset about him having to leave in the middle of the night. But she was upset about much more he knew.

Kingsley's office was on the highest floor of the Ministry and the lift ride had never seemed so long to Hermione. She looked at her husband and her best friend. Why did she suddenly feel fifteen again? Like they suddenly had to figure out how to pull together, how to fight. Peace had made them feel safe.

Only there were no walls of Hogwarts to protect them now. There was no Dumbledore, no Sirius, no Professor Lupin. She would've even taken Snape. His advice would have been spiteful and snide, but he might've said something useful.

When they finally got there, the doors opened.

Ron's jaw dropped as he looked at Kingsley. He had never seen him look so...so...scared.

"Kingsley, my god, what is it?" Harry asked, portraying more emotion than he wanted.

"The Wand Registry office figured out who cast the Unforgiveables," he said, rising to his feet. "The wand was a thirteen inch, Yew and phoenix feather." Kingsley paused and looked at the ceiling as if he wanted it to crash down on him. "It was Voldemort."


	3. Chapter 3: Game On

Thanks again for all the reviews. They keep me going. I'm having such fun writing this too.

Game On

Burning, aching, curses firings, wands sparking. That was what he remembered. But what he remembered mattered little. What mattered was his mission. He had to kill them, kill them all. They all had to pay. And once they did, once they were all nothing more than ashes blowing in the wind, he would rule, he would rule with an iron fist.

The mudbloods would be the same as the house-elves, the Muggles would be even worse. Life would be brought into balance. And he would be the master of it all.

Not that he wasn't already. Still, he'd slept for a very long time. This world was new, though it was very much the same. He knew what he had to do. The Deathstick. The Great Revenge. The Great Cleanse. The Final Perfection.

He'd seen it all clearly now, his path. The way forward, if done correctly, would be all too easy.

There were things to finish, missions to accomplish. People to kill.

Simply put, there was no time to waste. He smiled to himself, the next move was already in place. Knight always takes rook. The dusty halls he currently haunted held no allure for him, despite the fact that it felt familiar. But he knew nothing of familiarity. All he knew was to sleep, to wake and to hunt. He could let nothing stop him. He could let nothing stand in his way. He was building a monument to himself and to his master.

He was white. And white had moved first. But it didn't matter. After all, knight always took rook.

Ron knew he'd misheard Kingsley. Either that or he was dreaming. That was it. He was dreaming. He was still in bed at home with Hermione next to him. Although his mind was going all sorts of mad, impossible places, his body was at home in the normal world.

"That's impossible," he heard Hermione say. "That's impossible. It's absolutely impossible. There is no sort of Necromancy that could cause that to happen. I mean in, Pricther's Law of Magic, Necromancy is always defined as incomplete definition, woolier than Divination, it's completely impossible—,"

"Hermione!" Ron interrupted. "Calm down. We don't know what's going on yet." he could tell that she was beginning to panic (not that his heart wasn't filling with dread) . "Let's not jump to conclusions...before, well...before we know anything else."

"Ron's right," Harry said quickly, doing everything he could to conceal the shakiness in his voice.

"Kinglsey," Hermione said, trying to sound more logical and rantional and less panicky. "It can't be Voldemort," but then her voice went softer and filled with doubt. "C-can it?"

Kingsley had little the pyre that had turned Voldemort's lifeless body to ash. "We saw him burn, his wand was snapped in two. It should not be possible. But that doesn't necessarily mean it is."

"There is no spell that can wake the dead," Harry said stubbornly, echoing the words of his former headmaster.

"Yet," Ron said darkly. All eyes turned on him.

"Come on," he said, his head filling with black resignation. "All spells come from somewhere. As obsessed with immortality as Voldemort was, is it too much to think that he may have found some way to come back?"

"If Voldemort had found a way to come back, I would know it," Harry reminded them. "It's my curse, being able to sense the evil bastard. I haven't felt a thing since the Battle."

"You also haven't spoken Parseltongue," Hermione reminded him. "You're not a Horcrux anymore. Who knows if you'd be able to sense him."

Harry conceded Hermione's point. "Fuck," was all he could think of in reply.

"Besides," Hermione continued, and the three men settled in for what they knew was going to be a lengthy Hermione exposition. "The prophecy didn't say the Dark Lord was rising again. It said the Dark Lord's secret. So, it can't be Voldemort, although, he clearly is behind the whole thing."

Ron nodded but then a dark look crossed his features. "Then how do we explain the bloody wand?"

"Fuck," was all Hermione could think of in reply. "Well, someone could've repaired it?" she asked looking at Kingsley.

Kinglsey shook his head. "The pieces of Voldemort's wand were burned with Fiendfyre. No one was putting it back together."

Hermione sighed, clearly frustrated with not being able to think of a conclusion, something to explain away this madness. "He can't be back. How many more wars, how much more blood, how many times do we have to do this?"

Ron walked over to his wife and put a hand on her shoulder. "As many times as it takes. Constant Vigilance."

Harry chuckled almost humorlessly. "I wish Mad-Eye were here. He'd know what to do. He'd know how to handle this."

"Well," Kingsley said in a more pragmatic tone. "Let's go over what we know. All of us are reasonably convinced that it's impossible for Voldemort to be back from the dead. Yet, all the evidence so far is saying that he is. What does all that say?"

Everyone fell silent. Had Voldemort returned. Had the Dark Lord risen again, again? Were they on the brink of another war? Was everything they had fought, bled and lost for at risk again.

Ron finally broke the silence. "White moves first," he said.

"What?" Harry asked.

"White moves first. Someone, something, is playing a game with us. They've set the board and they've made the first move."

Harry sighed. "So what do we do?"

"We play," said the Knight of the Black Horse. "Game on."

"Go home," Kinglsey said after a long interlude pregnant with reflection and tinged with dread. "We know what we know. No more, no less. I'll have a word with Ollivander and other practioners of wand lore. We'll regroup first thing in the morning."

"Care to hazard a guess on what fresh hell tomorrow might bring?" Ron asked casually.

"Not really," Hermione and Harry said at the same time.

They bid Kingsley goodbye and decided to Floo home from Hermione's office.

Harry was set to go first, but he hesitated. "Gin's gonna raise hell," he said as he let fingers run through the container of Floo powder. "Reckon I should tell her about Voldemort?"

"No use scaring her unnecessarily," Ron offered. "We don't know for certain if he's back."

Hermione turned to look at them, aghast. "And the fury she'll cause once she found out you knew and didn't tell her? Harry!"

"I know, I know. It's just Gin is...too much of a Weasley."

"Oi!" called the Weasley present.

"You know what I mean. If she finds out that we may have to fight again, she'll..."

"Come running to the front of the battle line?" Hermione finished. "And the battle would be lucky to have her. Gin's not some paper doll."

"I know. It's just she's everything to me. If something happened to her, I'd never forgive myself."

"Neither would I," Ron said in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. "And believe me, I know where you're coming from," he added glancing over at Hermione. "If we are in the middle of another war, I don't want Hermione anywhere near it."

"But you also know, Ronald, you wouldn't be able to stop me." Hermione said in her trademark 'I'm a genius, bow to my will' voice.

Ron let out a slow sigh. "Doesn't make it any easier. My advice: Give until the end of the day tomorrow. We may know more then."

Harry still look conflicted and Ron felt for his friend. He knew that Ginny was as stubbron as the rest of his family and was bound to not let anything go. He also knew the duty Harry felt to protect her.

"Yeah, maybe you're right," he said finally. "See you lot tomorrow." He grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. "Potter's Cove." He stepped into the green flames and vanished.

Ron took Hermione's hand in his. "Love," he said softly as she reached for the Floo powder. "Let's go home. I've had enough horrors for the day."

"Actually, Ron, I think I'm going to stay here."

"Stay here?" he asked. "For what?"

"It's already almost 5:00, we'll have to be at 7:oo. I need to think, I need to figure out some things. I need to prepare myself for whatever we're about to go through."

Ron pulled Hermione in his arms, aware that she was beginning to panic. This wasn't Centaurs joining the Aurors, this was potentially life and death.

"All right," he said. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

Ginny was still awake when Harry got back home. At first, Harry thought she was up waiting for him. Then he remembered she had Quidditch practice early that morning. She was still in her dressing gown, casting a Drying Charm on her hair, while making a pot of tea. The sun was just breaking through the clouds casting a lighter feel on the scene than what Harry felt.

Their eyes met, neither of them knowing what to say to break the silence that had cemented between them.

Ginny, not wishing for another row, tried a joke. "Well, go on then. Is Voldemort back from the dead?" Her smile let Harry know she wasn't serious, but it quickly faded when he didn't return it.

"We don't know."

Ginny's eyebrows shot straight up as her jaw shot straight down. "What?" she said finally. "Tell me you're bloody joking."

"I wish I was."

"But...but t-that's impossible."

"Maybe not."

"But we saw him die," Ginny had a faraway look in her eyes as if she was trying to recollect the Battle of Hogwarts. Not that she could've forgotten it if she'd wanted to.

"I know. Ginny, we don't know what this is. We don't know what we're dealing with yet." He hesitated for a second then finally sat down at the kitchen table next to her. He slowly reached for hand. "You know that I only want to protect you, right?"

Ginny stared into the clear green eyes of her husband. She could see the sincertiy, the adoration and the fear all mingled into one. Damn him, she thought. He knows I can't resist him.

"I know," she said softly. "But if...it's...if it's starting again, there's no one on Earth that can protect me. You know that. My mother couldn't protect us anymore than my grandparents could've protected my uncles. I know what I'm doing. And if I choose to fight, I'll hex you into oblivion if you try and stop me."

Harry placed a soft kiss on Ginny's palm. "Don't I know it. Still, promise me that if things get too rough, you'll at least consider going to Romania?" his eyes pleaded with her and she damned him again in her head.

"I'll consider it," she said after a long pause. "Now, I've got to be off. Maura will lose her nut if I'm late."

"Yeah, I've got to be back at the office in bit anyway." They kissed briefly and Ginny headed back upstairs to finish getting dressed.

Harry didn't move for a long moment, silently hoping that if he stayed still, the rest of the world would too.

Ron had no idea when he'd fallen asleep, he only knew that he was waking up. The bright sunlight pouring into his bedroom was forcing his reluctant eyelids to unglue themselves. But instead of the soft pillow and warm sheets he expected, he opened his eyes to a bright, white sterile environment, Hermione was hunched over her desk, eyes scanning wildly on a piece of parchment.

For a moment, he couldn't remember what was going on. Then it all came back to him. He sat straight up and was greeted by a rather unsettling stiffness in his neck.

"I'm too old for this shit," he muttered grumpily.

"You're 23," Hermione reminded him with an amused smile.

"Yeah and we got rid of Voldemort years ago. We are too old to be going through this again."

"We don't know for sure if he's back."

"How else could you explain this?"

"I don't know yet. I mean I know there's more than one Yew wand out there with a Phoenix feather but, the wand that was used was clearly the one bought by Tom Riddle on his first trip to Ollivander's then the chances are—,"

"Hermione," Ron interrupted. "Too much. Need coffee."

"It's right there," she said pointing to a cup of steaming dark liquid on the end table next to him. "And we have to be logical about this. Maybe we missed a Horcrux."

Ron's eyebrows shot straight up. "Then how did he die?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, conceding the point. "Okay, you're right."

Ron took a sip of his coffee. "Well," he said. "As far as we know, there's no resurrection spell. Is it possible some Death Eater could've came up with one and cast it on Voldemort? It's possible...but unlikely. The only ones smart enough to do it are the Lestrange brothers."

"Or Lucius Malfoy," Hermione said, the wheels in her brain turning.

"Malfoy is under constant surveillance. There's twelve Aurors around him at all times. Besides, he doesn't have the stones for a move like that. I don't think he's willing to risk it all again."

"Maybe Draco."

"Draco never was willing to risk it, the ruddy coward."

Hermione put a hand to her forehead. "Honestly, we're running in circles. Hopefully Ollivander will be able to tell us something. Speaking of, we better freshen up."

Hermione flicked her wand and a small shelf appeared with a change of clothes for her and Ron. She cast a quick Freshening charm on her teeth and began to change her clothes.

Ron knew he shouldn't have been watching her, he knew he should've been getting dressed himself, but he just couldn't help himself, watching her quickly undress had arousal rising in him despite the gravity of the situation currently facing him.

Before he knew it, he found himself standing behind her as she has finished fastening her blouse and was now attempting something with her hair. He pulled her into his arms and planted a soft, lingering kiss on her neck.

"Ron," she nearly shrieked when she felt him, hard and ready, brushing up against her leg. "We can't," she said, but the only thing Ron did in reply was kiss her neck more insistently. "Kingsley's expecting us," she tried again.

"He'll wait," Ron murmured as his lips found their way to a well-known spot behind her ear, causing her to shudder.

Hermione knew she really should stop him, hurry him along and get right to Kingsley's office, but for reasons she figured she would never fully understand, she simply couldn't resist him. She turned in his arms, hands wrapping gently around his neck before she pressed a soft kiss on his lips.

She'd intended to be soft and gentle. Ron had other ideas, claiming her lips with a passionate fury that was usually only reserved for the most intense of love-making (or if they'd gone several days without seeing each other).

Ron's hands reached to undo the button's on Hermione's blouse.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, you two!" cried an all too familiar and all too cockblocking voice.

Harry Potter had entered the room. "Couldn't put up a ruddy Shield charm, could you?" he asked quickly shutting the door.

"Couldn't bother knocking, could you, mate?" countered Ron, who reluctantly let go of a furiously blushing Hermione who quickly rearranged herself.

"I did knock, mate," Harry said rolling his eyes at his friends. "You didn't answer. I was worried I was going to find you two in here lifeless with Dark Marks branded on your foreheads. But I was wrong, you're a little too alive in here, aren't you?"

"Sod off," Hermione said, the color in her cheeks rising again. "I've caught you and Ginny doing much worse." Ron grimaced slightly at her words.

"At least you didn't catch us on my mother's kitchen table," retorted Harry referring to a holiday at the Grangers that no one would ever forget.

"Oh, never mind," Hermione said with another large eye roll. "Ron, honestly, get dressed. We've got to get ready for Kingsley."

Forty-five minutes and three coffees later, Ron felt somewhat ready to deal with whatever they were dealing with. He held Hermione's hand as they entered into Kingsley's office. Kingsley seemed as if he had aged six years in six hours.

He didn't bother greeting them. He just looked up at them and sighed.

"What now?" Harry asked.

"Ollivander and his son are missing," Kingsley said with a faraway sound in his voice. "As are several other prominent wandmakers Dagmara Gregorovitch, Diana Farcal and Monique Alain," his voice was almost monotone as he referenced the Hungarian, American and French wand makers. "I've dispatched Aurors to several other wandmakers. We're taking Ollivander's daughter to a safehouse for protection."

"Does the Prophet know?" Hermione asked. The last they needed was Rita Skeeter nosing about in their business.

"Not at the moment, but it's bound to get out."

Before anyone could speak again, Kingsley's assistant, Billie Marladew, raced into the office.

"Mr. Shacklebolt, sir," she said in a voice which betrayed the stress of the day. "There's been a break in at the Lovegood-Scamander home. No one was hurt. But there was a Dark Mark burned into their fireplace."

"Bloody fuck" burst Ron, running his hand through his red hair. "Fresh hell."

"Ron, Harry," Kingsley said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Get over there now. Hermione, I have another job for you."

Hermione gave Ron's hand a tight squeeze before he and Harry apparated to the Lovegood-Scamander residence. The house had a constant Disillusionment charm on it so that it completely matched its surroundings.

Ron had always thought it was because their house was shaped like some kind of mad creature known as a Halkenshanck which looked like a cross between a Blast-Ended Skrewt and a Niffler and was bound to give any Muggles who saw it a right royal fright. Not to mention all the mad and hairy creatures they had hiding on their property.

Approaching their house, Ron felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Suddenly, he felt cold and clammy and he could hear Percy's voice screaming Fred's name.

"Dementors?" he said grabbing his wand and scanning the trees for any sign of the horrific creatures.

"Wands up," he whispered to Harry.

But just as soon as the chill appeared, it vanished.

"Sorry," called the voice of Rolf Scamander. "Boggarts." He approached them out of the mist surrounding the forest from behind his house. "I breed them. I know an incantation that allows them to keep the shape of Dementors. It's a deterrent."

Ron raised an eyebrow, but considering what he knew of Rolf and Luna, it didn't exactly surprise him.

Rolf was nearly ten years older than then and had gone to Hogwarts with Charlie (Ron figured there was something in the pumpkin juice that year that turned the entire class into nutters with an immovable love for highly dangerous creatures.).

"Does it work?" Harry asked with a dark laugh.

"Not as much as I'd like it to."

"Where's Luna?" Ron asked looking around for his friend.

"At her father's," Rolf said quickly. "She's there for the week. I'm glad of it now. Ron, Harry, tell me straight, what are we looking at?"

"If only we knew," Ron said. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Rolf shrugged. "You better come inside."

They stepped inside the house, which felt colder than it was outside. "I was upstairs working with a Niffler when I heard the sound of someone Apparating inside," Rolf said leading them to a staircase. "I figured it was Luna. When I walked downstairs, I got hit with a Sleeping Jinx from behind. When I woke up I saw that."

The three friends turned to the entrance of the parlor. They saw very clearly a Dark Mark burned into the fireplace, an unsettling green smoke rising slowly out of the wood. Ron had seen far too many of them for his liking already.

"Why you?" he asked, trying to make sense of it. "Nothing was stolen?"

"Not that I could tell," Rolf said with a sigh. "I've got nothing Death Eaters would want. Oh, that reminds me, I need to owl Luna."

Rolf hurried off to kitchen with Hermione eying him curiously.

"He seems...rather calm."

Harry shrugged. "He handles grindylows and thunderbirds all day long, he's probably trained himself to stay calm."

"Still a Dark Mark—," Ron trailed off, the gears in his brain turning.

Before Harry could respond, Rolf called out.

"Harry, there's something you should see."

Harry and Ron dashed for the kitchen.

"What is it?" they asked at the same time.

Rolf pointed to a small glass box on his kitchen table. The Dark Mark was inscribed on it in gold. It almost seemed to glow. "That wasn't there before," Rolf said, not sounding nearly as calm as he did earlier. His eyes were wide and he was gripping his wand much tighter than he had been earlier.

The box was small and square with a small keyhole at its center.

Harry made a move for it.

Ron started "Harry, don't-,"

But it was too late. Harry reached out and picked the box up. For a moment, everything seemed perfectly fine. Until Harry's skin started turning an unnatural grey, like a thundercloud ready to burst.

"Ron," he said weakly as the box tumbled from his hand and the world went dark around him.

~Vicit es Validum~

Ginny flung a Quaffle at the rings so hard that it nearly knocked Chelsea Graffenpatch off her broom.

"Merlin's beard, Gin, save from the game," cried Maura Johnson, captain of the Holyhead Harpies.

"Sorry," Ginny cried, though she wasn't really sure she was. Quidditch, Ginny's first love, seemed to hold no allure for her. The wind zipping through her hair, the feel of the broom beneath her, the Quaffle nestled tightly into her arm, speeding towards the Keeper and the Rings. It all seemed so perfunctory, so rudimentary, so pedestrian. Only when she imagined the Quaffle was Harry's head did she feel any kind of satisfaction.

It was sixth year all over again. She had used to go out on the pitch and fling Quaffles all day long, frustrated at being alone, frustrated at being left behind, frustrated with her family for thinking of her as a precious, little porcelain doll that needed to be protected.

The only difference now was it was her husband that thought of her as the little porcelain doll.

The overprotective git. The bloody, scarheaded, overprotective prat. How dare he?

In the back of her mind, she knew he just wanted to protect her. The way he always did. No, she hadn't been on the run for nearly a year. No, she had just to live at Hogwarts under the Carrows.

Of course, the fact that she even had to think about things like this was upsetting enough. Someone was trying to start another war. As if the first two weren't bad enough.

The First Wizarding War was over a year before she was born. But she knew how badly it scarred her world. All she had to do was look at her grandparents whenever someone brought up her uncles.

"GINNY!" called Maura. "Take a breather. Your sister-in-law's here."

"Could you be more specific, Maura? I've got five of them."

"Hermione."

Ginny looked towards the stands and saw Hermione standing near the entrance with two coffees in her hands.

She quickly flew over to Hermione who had an expression colored with a mixture of apprehension, warmth and guilt. Hermione knew how much being left out irritated Ginny. And unlike Harry and Ron, she tried to make up for it.

"Is everything all right?" Ginny asked in a guarded tone.

"No," Hermione admitted immediately and tried to push the task Kingsley had given her out of her mind. "But I didn't come here to discuss that. I came to check on you." She handed her the coffee.

"Thanks," said Ginny as she dismounted from her broom. "Where are the boys?"

"Gin, don't hate me, but I really can't say."

Ginny sighed. "I guess I didn't expect you to. Hermione, can you at least tell me if we're going to...well, can you tell me if we're in danger?"

Ron's earlier words echoed in her head. "Someone's playing a game with us, Ginny. I think we have no choice but to make a move."

Before Ginny could reply, a fast moving, shimmery Jack Russell terrier came speeding towards them: Ron's Patronus. "St. Mungo's," Ron's voice, filled with emotion and urgency called. "It's Harry."

I know, another cliffhanger, but what can I say. The next chapter will definitely shed slightly more light on things. But not much. Please read and review.


	4. Chapter 4: A Foe-Glass, Darkly

_**Thanks again to everyone who has left feedback and commentary, and let me say this is completely unbetated so any errors are completely my own. This is so fun for me to write and I'm already halfway through the next chapter, so I'll have more time to proof. Not a lot of Ron and Hermione in this chapter, but the next one is chock-full Enjoy.**_

 _ **A Foe-Glass, Darkly**_

By the time Ginny and Hermione had gotten to St. Mungo's, every bloody reporter from the _Prophet_ was surrounding the place.

"Shit," said Hermione, uncharacteristically swearing but she could think of no other way to describe the scene she'd just Apparated into.

Hermione spotted Rita Skeeter with her horrible Quik-Quotes Quill at the ready. But Hermione was in no mood for that vile woman. She grabbed Ginny's hand and rushed through the doors.

"Harry Potter?" she nearly screamed at the poor desk clerk who was looking out at the swarming mania with more than a little trepidation.

"Fifth Floor," the young witch said barely looking at them.

They raced to the elevators. Ginny was clearly freaked. She didn't know what could've happened. She had no idea of what was going on. Hermione had explained very little, and right now, Ginny didn't give a damn if Voldemort had returned from the grave.

All she cared about was Harry.

It didn't take long for them to find his room as there were eight Aurors outside of it, not to mention one freakishly tall and extremely worried ginger.

"Ron," Hermione cried before jumping into his arms. He held her tightly for a moment, before pulling his sister into a loving embrace.

"Ron," Ginny said, her voice hoarse. "What's happened? Where is he? Can I see him?"

Ron shook his head. He didn't know where to begin. He didn't know how to tell Ginny. He wasn't sure he understood himself. So much of it didn't make sense. So much of it he felt he should've seen coming.

He was angry at himself for not stopping Harry. He was angry at Harry for touching the ruddy thing. Hadn't he learned anything from Tom Riddle's diary? The Gaunt Ring? The necklace that nearly killed Katie Bell? Then he felt angry at himself for being angry at Harry who clearly had bigger things to worry about at the moment.

"It was my fault," he finally said aloud. "I should've stopped him. I shouldn't have let him touch it. I should've grabbed it myself."

"Ron, you're not making any sense," Hermione chided him. "Touch what? What happened to Harry? Was this at Luna's?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, there was a box with a Dark Mark. Harry reached for it and h-he j-just collapsed. I don't know why. The Healer said something about his Core. I don't know." A lump rose in Ron's throat and he couldn't speak anymore.

"It was cursed?" Ginny said, her voice getting louder, her eyes swimming with tears.

Ron shrugged. He didn't know. He didn't want to upset Ginny anymore than necessary. He held her tighter. He felt so useless. All he could do for her sister was tell her that he didn't know and that he should've done more.

They couldn't see what was going on, the curtains around Harry's room had been drawn, but there were seven Healers already in there. Now it was a waiting game.

Ron paced back and forth while Ginny and Hermione watched him. He didn't know what to do with himself. Waiting seemed useless. Leaving was unfathomable. What if Harry died? It would be his fault. Everyone would try and convince him otherwise but would know better.

It was his job to watch Harry's back. He should've just Summoned the damn thing and kept it floating.

Arthur and Molly arrived with stricken looks on their faces. "Do we know anything?" Molly asked and received three miserable shakes of the head in reply.

Arthur was clutching an issue of the _Prophet_. "Rush Edition," he told Ron. "Is this thing about a prophecy true, son?"

Ron rubbed his lips together. So much for keeping a tight lid on things. He didn't answer right away. He just reached for the paper. A picture of Trelawney and Harry were under a large, unsettling headline:

 _ **A New Prophecy Heralding the Return of The Dark Lord by Rita Skeeter**_

 _A series of highly unsettling events are shrouding the Wizarding World in a rather dark cloud. The Ministry of Magic, once again up to its old and infamous tricks of secrecy, subversion and omission has been attempting to cover up a new prophecy from famed Seer Sybil Trelawney. The prophetess caused quite a scene at Ivermorny, nearly sending the students into an uproar with a prediction about the Dark Lord._

 _You heard correctly, The Dark Lord is returning. According to Sybil Trelawney, that is. But what proof has he offered of this? None. But what else is new?_

 _In another coincidence, famed Auror (and defeater of the Dark Lord) Harry Potter has been rushed to St. Mungo's following a routine investigation of a break in. No doubt, the return of the Dark Lord caused him to go into a rather nasty shock._

 _Let's wish him a speedy recovery and let us all remain ever vigilant._

Ron crumpled the paper up in a huff. "That two-faced, smarmy beetle-eyed b—,"

"Ron!" shrieked Hermione, nodding towards a group of children in a nearby corner. "Don't read that rubbish. Besides everyone knows Rita Skeeter's nothing more than a glorified gossip reporter."

"Yeah? Then why she's still getting the first page?" Ron asked angrily.

Hermione glared at him. She knew he wasn't really upset with her. She knew it was the stress of recent events bringing out his impatience and irritability. Still, she didn't appreciate his tone.

"Calm down," she said tersely. "We're all just as worried as you are."

"Don't tell me to calm down," he retorted unable to keep his ire from rising. In this current situation any sort of appearance of calm felt practically stupid.

"Will you two give it a rest?" cried Ginny. "My husband is in the hospital. I don't need to listen to this right now."

Molly rested a hand on her only daughter's shoulder. "Harry will be fine," she said softly. Ginny didn't answer, she just blinked back a few tears and latched onto her mother's hand.

"Son," Arthur prodded. "This prophecy?"

Ron stared at his father for a long moment. "It's true. Trelawney said all that. We don't know what's going on. There's been several…incidents, if you will. We don't know what's going on. But it's not good."

Arthur examined his son and could see the strain he was under. His ears were red, his eyes glassy and agitated and he seemed ready to snap at the nearest provocation. He looked older than 23 and yet younger than he did when he was fifteen. Or perhaps it was just the musings of a father eager to comfort his son, but having no idea how.

They were footsteps approaching them very quickly. Kingsley, surrounded by six more Aurors, had arrived.

"Any word?" he asked.

No one bothered to reply and the look on Ginny's face said it all.

The door of Harry's room finally opened. "Mrs. Potter?" called a middle-aged female Healer with light blond hair and a pained expression on her face. "I'm Healer Rosanna Cawderwell," she said, before clearing her throat.

Ginny looked up, needing good news. "Is he all right?"

"Your husband is…stable."

"That doesn't sound terribly reassuring," Hermione said, impatience growing.

"Perhaps," Kingsley interjected. "We should have this conversation somewhere more private. Mr. Potter is a very famous wizard and his condition will be of great interest to the entire Wizarding World."

"Mr. Minister, all due respect," said the Healer in her most professional tone. "As of this moment, Mr. Potter is my patient. I need not lectures about who he is. But, your suggestion is a wise one. Please, let's step over here. Family only."

"We are family," retorted Mrs. Weasley who had no intention of being excluded. Something in her tone gave the Healer pause because she raised no further objection.

They stepped into a private office and Hermione quickly cast every protective charm she could think of. All eyes turned to the Healer.

Ron could tell it wasn't exactly good news they were anticipating.

. "I will level with you," she said in a very professional tone. "I haven't seen anything like this, ever. In fact, no one has for around 700 years. Mr. Potter is suffering from the _Aranea Infirma_."

Blank expressions stared out at the healer. Ron's eyes turned towards Hermione who was looking equally as perplexed. Clearly, whatever it was wasn't covered in _Hogwarts: A History._

"The what?" Ginny said finally.

Healer Cawderwell sighed. "It's a curse. A very unusual, very rare, very old curse. The good news is it's not deadly and there has never been a case of it causing permanent damage, on record anyway."

"That's the good news?" cried an incredulous Hermione.

"Considering what the curse does do, very much so," Healer Cawderwell said as she Conjured up a photograph. "This is a picture of Mr. Potter's Magical Core," she handing it to Ginny who just stared at her, not taking the picture at all. Her face was white, her bright eyes teary, her lip trembling. Finally, Ron, unable to bear the suspense, grabbed the photograph.

"BLOODY HELL," he nearly screamed, dropping the photograph as if it was burning.

"What in God's name?" Hermione exclaimed she said yanking the photo off the ground. Her eyes widened in shock and Ron's revulsion was immediately explained.

Something like a black spider was latched onto Harry's magical core. It seemed to be emanating a glowing light.

Hermione felt numb. That _**thing**_ was attacking Harry. She could hardly make sense of it.

"What is it doing to him?" Ginny asked him. She glanced only slightly at the photo, which was now in the hands of Mrs. Weasley who was holding back a sob.

"It's keeping him in a magically weakened state," the Healer explained. "That's what the curse does. It keeps the wizard or witch magically weak, nearly incapable of the slightest Bluebell flame. This ordeal also keeps the person in a physically weak state as all the person's energy is being pushed into strengthening their core. But once the curse is lifted, the person returns to their normal magical state."

"So lift the bloody curse," Ron said impatiently.

"It's not that simple, Mr. Weasley. The curse is Old Magic. It's thought to have been created by Salazar Slytherin himself. The only way this curse is lifted is if the person who cast it lifts it."

At that point, Ginny was undone. Strong sobs shook her as she crumbled into Arthur's arms. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god," she choked out through her tears. "Why?"

Hermione, fighting her own tears, cleared her throat loudly. "But it w-won't k…I mean, he w-won't…" her voice trailed off as she swallowed.

The Healer smiled very sympathetically. "Mr. Potter's life is not in danger. But he will need to stay here. We'll keep him on Core Stabilizing potions and monitor him for any type of infection as those are common when a Wizard is physically weak. Mrs. Potter, if you'd like to see your husband, he's resting now, so the visit can't be too long."

Ginny nodded weakly and tried to compose herself. She knew that for Harry she had to be strong. She followed the Healer into the room while the rest of the family waited to give her some privacy.

As soon as Ginny was out of sight, Hermione buried her head into Ron's shoulder. "Oh my god," she said desperately. "There must be some way to break it. We can't just leave him like that."

Ron was grim. This clearly wasn't a game anymore. Someone had cursed his best mate. Someone was trying to incapacitate his best mate, but not kill him. Most likely the same person who'd killed Dean Thomas and Alexa Scrimgeour. Ron knew one thing for certain he wasn't going to waste his time chasing Voldemort's ghost.

Whatever it was, it wasn't that. There was no way Voldemort would've cursed Harry Potter. If he really was back from the dead, he would've killed Harry the moment he had the chance.

"I don't know," he said answering Hermione. "But I promise you, I'll figure it out." He planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

" _We,"_ Hermione corrected. "Don't you dare think of excluding me, Ronald."

"Mione," he began slowly. "This is getting dangerous."

"Thank Merlin I'm a Gryffindor."

Ron had no intention of arguing with her then. But there was no way he was going to let her be in the middle of this. He knew she was going to fight him. He knew he'd probably have to stupefy her. It didn't matter. He was going to keep her safe.

"Ron," Ginny called stepping out of the room. "Harry wants a word."

Reluctantly letting go of Hermione, Ron stepped into Harry's room.

The amount of tubes and monitors connected to Harry's forearms immediately disconcerted Ron. On the right of him was a monitor which was clearly watching his core as Ron shuddered at the sight of the spider-like curse attacking it. He took a look at his mate who usually spiky hair was slicked with sweat and sticking to his forehead.

His coloring had somewhat improved, but he didn't look healthy.

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said finishing his surmise. "You look like shite."

"I reckon I still look a right sight better than you," Harry said in a raspy voice. Ron could tell the strain it was just to talk.

"Take it easy," he told him. "You're going to be here for a while, I reckon."

"Yeah," Harry said with a brief nod.

"Harry, we'll find the fucker who's doing this," he told him. "We'll catch them. Just rest easy. I swear I will fix this."

Harry nodded but he didn't reply, he just gave a small smile. It pained Ron more than he realized to see his friend like that.

With a parting glance to Harry, he left the hospital room.

"I'm going to the office, Mione," he told her once he'd exited. "Stay with Gin for a bit, yeah?"

Hermione's eyebrows rose slowly. They stared at each other for a long moment before Hermione nodded that she would. She also gave him a look that said "I know what you're up to Ronald Weasley and I'm going to kill you".

He would've laughed if the situation hadn't been so dire. But he wasn't the mood for laughter. Considering everything that had happened in the last few days, he wasn't sure he would ever laugh again.

He couldn't rid himself of the feeling that he was missing something. That some crucial clue had escaped his notice. He didn't know what. He just knew he had to figure it out. He could not, would not rest until whoever had cursed Harry was either dead or rotting in a cell in Azkaban. He didn't even care if they brought in the Dementors, whoever did this deserved the Kiss.

Someone wanted Harry weak, not dead, but weak. It made no sense. It clearly had something to do with Voldemort.

That's where he had to start.

He walked to the Floo Center in St. Mungo's and Flooed into his office in the Auror Department. But he didn't stay long, he headed down into Subfloor Eighteen Criminal Archives. This is where all the intel that had been gathered on Voldemort throughout the years was kept including the memories that Dumbledore had collected.

He walked into the department and flashed his Auror badge to the witch who was at the desk.

"How can I help you, Mr. Weasley?"

"I need the Voldemort room." The young witch flinched at the name.

"Right away," she said, now seemingly eager to get away from him. She, evidently, was not interested in whatever was going on with the Dark Lord. He couldn't say he blamed her.

She hit a button and immediately he was transported to a large room filled with vials, parchment, scrolls, memories and artifacts. Some related to Voldemort's early life, and the Riddle Family but most of it was about the wars.

Ron thought for a second. Voldemort was cold, calculating and conceited. His conceit was his downfall. So whatever he had put into place it was definitely cruel, calculated and self-serving.

If he had made some bizarre plan in his place in the event of his own death, it was most likely going to involve his own ego and in some way have something to do with people he believed had wronged him.

 _So every non psychopathic witch and wizard ever,_ Ron thought with very little mirth. He thought about the prophecy and tried to harness his inner Hermione. _From what was thought vanquished. From what was thought vanquished._ Harry's parents were vanquished, but not everyone who had fought in the First Wizarding War was. That made him believe that whenever Voldemort had buried a secret, it had been during the First War.

He spent over two hours and a half searching through the files of the First War and found nothing that he didn't know already. He honestly didn't know what he had been expecting to find. He'd been hoping for something, anything.

And then something hit him. someone with extremely close ties to the Death Eaters, someone who had never seen the inside of Wizgenamnot trial because they claimed ignorance and innocence.

Ron, himself had never believed it. But he'd been too busy grieving for his brother and helping Hermione put her family back together to care.

But now, he cared. He cared enough to go ask some questions.

~Vicit es Validum~

"Avela Lestrange?" Ron had to admit she certainly didn't look like a Death Eater. She wasn't draped in black and she didn't have a crazed look of murderous hate and contempt about her.

But looks could be deceiving.

"You're a Weasley?" she said as she stepped out of her front door. The dilapidated Lestrange Manor wasn't what it had been once.

"Auror Ronald Weasley," Ron said flashing his badge.

"I don't have to speak with you," she said a snide look crossing her sharp features. She had platinum blond hair, striking hazel eyes and very thin lips. She clearly came from old Pureblooded money. But now she was a Lestrange, constantly watched, constantly whispered about. Ron detected a hint of fear in her stance. The Lestrange brothers had disappeared right after Voldemort had popped his clogs, ala the Chosen One.

They're had been sightings, but they were good about staying out of sight.

"No," he admitted. "You don't. But you won't do yourself any favors…or your husband."

Avela's eyes narrowed. "You had better come in," she said after a long pause. She turned on her heels and Ron quickly followed.

The place wasn't quite as dark and creepy as Grimmauld Place, still the dark curtains and portraits of old Slytherins was unsettling.

"You know who I am, Mrs. Lestrange?" Ron said stopping by a small table in the foyer.

"I do," she said as she faced him from the other side of the foyer.

"Then you know why I'm here."

"I don't know where my husband is. I don't know where his brother is."

Ron didn't smile. He didn't believe her for a second. "As you have told the Ministry many times over the past five years," he said very coolly.

"Mrs. Lestrange, I'd like to believe you, but I wasn't born yesterday nor am I part troll, so cut the bloody fucking crap. Let me make myself clear: if you or your husband or his equally barking brother had anything to do with the attack on Mr. Potter, I will personally see to it that you rot in Azkaban. I'll bring in Dementors just for you."

Mrs. Lestrange's shoulders had gotten quite straight, her eyes were slits and her arms were folded. Her resolve however was unshaken. She remained stony and silent.

"I'll see myself out."

Ron walked out of the house, and cast a silent Revealing Charm around the perimeter. It would reveal any magical concealments of anyone attempting to leave or enter the house.

Now all he had to do was wait. Avela Lestrange was no fool. She knew her house was monitored. She knew her fireplace was monitored as was her wand and Apparition. But she was nervous, Ron could tell him. Something was unsettling her.

He held back from the house, hiding in the surrounding forest for nearly half an hour.

It was then that an owl covered by a Disillusionment and Silencing Charm flew out of the perimeter. Before the owl could make a sound, Ron raised his wand.

"Stupefy!"

The owl swirled erratically and Ron Summoned it to him. There was a note tied to its ankle:

 **Blood traitors on the hunt. Move quickly.**

Ron magically re-sealed the note, Ennervated the owl and sent it on its way, not before casting a Tracing Charm on it.

Avela might lead them straight to whoever was wreaking this havoc.

~Vicit es Validum~

It was a somber sight at the Burrow that evening. Bill and Fleur had left the children with Gabrielle. Percy had taken off work early (a very rare occurrence) and Charlie had owled to say he would be there in three days. Fred, Bill and Arthur were in full Order of the Phoenix mode, causally theorizing who they needed to go after.

Angelina was helping Molly (who couldn't seem to sit still) cook, while Fleur did everything she could to comfort an almost inconsolable Ginny.

"Zee shall be all right, no?" she said again and again.

Hermione was leafing through every book she could find, trying to find another way of lifting that blasted curse. Percy, in a show of goodwill, volunteered to help her.

Ron wasn't there. Hermione had sent him several owls along with several calls to his Muggle Mobile. She had vowed not to worry, but she was growing more and more anxious and irritated at his absence.

"I want to go back to the hospital," Ginny said, catching everyone's attention. "I need to be with my husband. He shouldn't be alone."

"Ginny," Hermione said gently. "He's not. There are ten Aurors watching him around the clock."

But Ginny wasn't hearing any of this. "That's not the same and you know it. If it was Ron, where you would be?"

Hermione didn't argue with that.

"Speaking of Ron," Fred said, attempting to change the subject. "Where is the git?"

"Here?" Ron said stepping out of the Fire.

"Where the hell have you been?" Hermione demanded storming over to him. "I've been owling you all day, not to mention calling you. We've been worried sick, there's a lunatic on the loose. This is hardly the time for you to go dark, Ronald."

Ron looked at wife, who practically had steam coming out of her ears.

"I've been trying to find said lunatic, Hermione," he said walking past her and heading towards the kitchen cupboard where the good Firewhiskey was kept. "Accio glass."

"For heaven's sake, Ron—," Hermione began, but she stopped speaking when he saw the look on his face. He poured a glass, walked past Hermione and handed it to Ginny. "I'll take you back to the hospital tonight, if you want to go," he told her.

"Do we know anything else?" Bill asked.

Ron shook his head. "There haven't been any more attacks. Any word on the wandmakers?"

Hermione shook her head. "Kinglsey wants you to meet with Ollivander's daughter tomorrow."

Ron nodded. "What about you?"

Hermione sighed. "I can't say at the moment."

"What?" he said not bothering to hide his incredulity.

"I said I can't say," she said, her tone snappish.

Ron's nostrils flared slightly. So this is how it was. This is how it was going to be. He wanted to yell at her, but he dared not in front of his mother who would murder him. He was also too exhausted to start rowing with Hermione, who was clearly itching for a fight. What she was hacked off about, he didn't know.

Before he could think of defusing reply, there was a loud rapt on the door. All of them grimaced. Answering doors had led to nothing good recently.

Arthur hurried to answer it and to his surprise was met with a Gringotts goblin. "Good evening," he said in a high, nasally voice. "I am looking for Molly Maxima Elizabeth Prewett Weasley?"

All the heads turned towards Molly. Arthur looked truly perplexed. "Come in, come in."

"Good evening to all, I am Plathick, Head of Estates Inheritance at Gringotts. Mrs. Weasley, I presume?" the gray-headed goblin nodded to Molly who had come out of the kitchen looking thoroughly confused.

"Yes," she said slowly.

"Good. I'm here about your father's will."

Molly's jaw dropped. "My father's will? B-but…that was locked away in the vault. We haven't been able to access the vault."

"Yes, yes," Plathick said with a vigorous nod of his head. "I'm aware. But the wards around the Prewett vault have been lifted."

"Lifted? How?"

"To say so, ma'am, would be giving away Gringotts secrets. So under no circumstances will I be explaining it. Right, let's get to business." The goblin Conjured up a stool for himself and pulled out a piece of parchment which floated into the air.

"This is the Last Will and Testatment of Edgar Neil Malardawe Prewett, of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Prewett. To my son, Gideon Frederick, the Heir of the House of Prewett, I leave Rubrum the Seat of the House of Prewett and Mallory House in London, Galleons in the amount of 487,000, Knuts in the amount 0f 15,000 and Sickels in the amount of 875 in addition to the seat on the Wizgamenot that is rightfully his by birth. To my son, Fabian George, I leave Rosso, the country estate, Galleons in the amount of 355,000, Knuts in the amount of 12,000, Sickels in the amount of 789. To my daughter Molly Maxima Elizabeth, I leave the Black Chest in the attic of Rubrum, Galleons in the amount of 10,000,000, Knuts in the amount of 1,000,000 and Sickels in the amount of 8,000. To my grandchildren, I leave Galleons in the amount of 12,000,00 to be divided equally among them when they become of age. Additionally to husband or husbands of any of my granddaughters, I leave Galleons in the amount 0f 300,000 to be divided equally. The rest of my estate, worldly possessions etcetera, totaling 2,000,000 Galleons and Vermelho, the country house in Essex, are to remain under the care of my wife, Juliette. In the event of her death, they are to be left to my daughter Molly. Let it be written. Let it be done."

The goblin looked up from the document to a sea of shocked, mostly red-headed faces. For a moment, he thought that someone had cast a mass Petrifying charm on the group. "Mrs. Weasley?" he prodded.

Molly was stunned, she couldn't move, she dared not to speak. This couldn't be. Of all things she had been expecting to happen, this certainly had not been one of them. She knew her family had been wealthy. But, in those days, it hadn't been considered proper to include daughters in matters of family and money. Her brothers knew all about that and she had spent her time learning to cook and sew and make the most magically comfortable home. But this? This? She had no idea.

Plathick took the unsettling silence as license to continue. "So Mrs. Weasley, we have transferred all the money now rightfully yours into your vault with your husband. Your children have each received two million Galleons into their accounts and Mr. Harry Potter has received 300,000 as your father had only one granddaughter. Additionally, the keys to the properties you've inherited are inside your vault. Good evening to you all."

Plathick placed the will on a nearby coffee table and left almost as swiftly as he came, leaving the extremely confused family to wonder what else was going to come their way.

The newfound Galleons were not long on their mind for a an owl came from St. Mungo's saying that Harry had spike a large fever. Ginny was determined to go and camp out by his side and none of the family even thought to protest.

Money was something the Weasleys were not accustomed to. Love, family, laughs and copious amounts of good food? Yes. Wealth? No.

Ron had just started to feel somewhat financially secure and that was because he'd been extremely frugal with his income and his Ministry Accolades.

It all seemed like something out a dream. Ron felt like he was walking through a Pensieve as he escorted Ginny back to the hospital. He instructed the Aurors that under no circumstances was she to go anywhere alone, not even the loo.

By the time he Flooed home, he was barely standing up. He just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep.

Hermione was sitting in the living room, book in hand, glass of red wine on the table. Clearly, she had other ideas than sleep.

"How's Harry?" she asked calmly.

"No better, no worse," Ron said shortly. He started to head for the stairs.

"Ron." He turned to face her. He couldn't remember why they were angry at each other. He figured it was the stress of recent events and that they were taking it out on each other. She beckoned for him to sit by her. He hesitated. He was tired, worried and irritable. In short, he was in rowing mode and he could tell that she was too.

He moved towards her and sat on the couch.

"Where were you today?" she asked calmly. She didn't want to fight either, but if they didn't clear the air between them soon, things were only going to get worse. They didn't have time to quarrel. They had bigger things to worry about.

"I visited the Archives," Ron stated simply. "Went digging through Voldemort's files."

"Find anything useful?" Hermione said, a slightly sharper tone in her voice.

Ron felt he was somehow digging himself into a hole, but couldn't quite see where and how. "Not really."

Hermione took a sip of her wine. "Do you plan on telling me the truth or am I going to have turn into a bloody Legillmens?"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Don't give me that rubbish, Ronald. You expect me to believe that you spent all day in what amounts to a very large library reading up on Voldemort? Do you take me for an idiot or an Inferi?"

 _Shit,_ Ron thought. _She's pissed. But she'll even be more pissed when I tell where I was_.

"I had a hunch I wanted to pursue," he said slowly. "So I pursued it."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"Not particularly."

"Ron, you cannot go off of your own, hunting down leads. You're going to get yourself killed—,"

"Fucking hell, Hermione, what do you want me do? Sit around and wait for another body with another goddamn Dark Mark? Harry's in the hospital. And that's where he's going to stay until we figure out who's doing this. I can't sit on my arse and read."

"Oh, and I suppose you think that's what _ **I'm**_ doing?" Hermione said insulted.

"I didn't say that."

"NO, but that's what you meant," she spat, her voice dripping venom. "I'll have you know, Ronald, that I've been researching a way to get rid of that curse."

"Hermione, it's Old Magic. The kind of stuff that is so powerful it was banned. If Salazar Slytherin created it, we're not going to be able to break it."

"Don't give me that rubbish. There has to be a way."

"Hermione, this isn't Spew. This isn't Centaurs and Auror badges."

"I am perfectly aware of that, Ronald, thank you very much. He's my best friend too. You think I don't hate seeing him like this?" Angry tears sprang into Hermione's eyes and Ron could tell how angry she really was.

"I know you do. That's why I have to figure this out. So if I have a hunch, a clue, a feeling, Ministry rules be damned, I'm going to chase it. Harry would do the same if it were me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. But she couldn't argue with him. She felt exactly the same way. "Then I'll help you."

Ron sighed. "Hermione, we don't know what we're walking into—,"

"Which is why you need me," Hermione protested.

"I need you to be safe," his eyes turned pleading as they bored into hers. "I couldn't protect Harry. You have to let me protect you. I'll stun you lock you in an Imperturbed closet if I have to."

"That's barbaric and totally ridiculous."

"Be that as it may, I'll do it. I don't care."

Hermione laughed, despite her frustration. She sighed as she scooted back onto the couch, knowing that they were at a stalemate. She also knew that they were both going to do whatever they wanted. She knew that Ron knew it too.

"Well," she said as she took his hand in hers and wove their fingers together. "Will you at least tell me if this hunch led to anything?"

Ron chuckled dryly. "Too soon to say. But more importantly, what are we going to do now that we're rich?"

Hermione laughed. "Why didn't you ever tell me your family was rich?"

Ron shrugged. "I didn't know. I mean I knew the Prewetts were an Ancient and Most Noble House, the Weasleys were too, at some point. But Mum didn't talk about it. My granddad died when I was eight. Grandma died right before the Second War."

"But they had no access to their vault?"

Another shrug from Ron. "Dad always said it was a Ward that went wrong. It was probably bonded with blood magic and went haywire when my uncles were killed. Of course, I didn't know about all the properties or the gold. I would've remembered that."

"I'm sure," Hermione said. They were both quiet for a moment. "You're really not going to tell me?" she prodded again.

"There's nothing to tell of yet," Ron admitted. "I'll tell you this, something larger is going on here. We don't have all the pieces yet, maybe not even one. But someone is definitely coming for us."

Hermione slumped. "A foe-glass, darkly," she said softly.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"A foe-glass, darkly. Someone's coming, but they're not close enough for us to see yet."

"That's good for them," Ron replied grimly. "Because if they were, they'd be dead."

A half hour later when Hermione was showering to get ready for bed, Ron checked the status of his Tracing Charm. The owl was back at the Lestrange manor. There was no information about where the owl had traveled which meant it had traveled to somewhere either Unplottable or under a Fidelius Charm, possibly both.

"Damn it," he muttered. Dead end. He knew Avela was hiding something, which meant her husband and her brother were probably involved. That was something, but not much. And if they were involved, did that mean their leader had returned?

Nothing made sense. Because there was no way Voldemort would've left Harry alive. Then a thought struck Ron. The curse wasn't meant for Harry. It was meant for either Rolf or Luna.

Then there was the prophecy. Maybe the buried secret was the Lestrange brothers were slowly killing off everyone who had fought against Voldemort. Maybe everyone who had been a part of the resistance was in danger.

He needed answers. He needed help. Maybe Ollivander's daughter could shed some light on things.

Ron wanted to help Harry. Ron wanted to kill whoever had done this to him.

But at that point, all he could do was go to sleep, unable to do either.

As he slept he never imagined than the good news he'd gotten had anything (or actually everything) with the mounds and mounds of bad news that was pouring in by the minute.


	5. Chapter 5: No Master But Strength

_**Greetings All. There are no words I can use to express how sorry I am for my delay. To keep you guys waiting longer than a month, shame on me. Over two, I should be dragged into FF court. RL has been insane lately. But I've decided to atone for that with a double update, and the first chapter of my newest story.**_

 _ **Originally, these two were one chapter. Then I realized how much information I was throwing out at once. Chapter 5 is essential to the plot and is filled with a ton of exposition. These two chapters, for me, are as much about the Dichotomy of Ron and Hermione as they are about the plot. But as I late long author's notes, on with the story.**_

 _ **No Master But Strength**_

It was 5:30 in the morning when Hermione awoke. Her eyes were heavy, despite the fact that she was well-rested. At least her body was. Her mind, she knew, was an entirely different matter. Her brain felt as if it hadn't shut off for a moment.

She didn't know what to do about Harry, or the larger crisis that the Wizarding World was currently going through. She hated not knowing. It drove her insane. She was supposed to have all the answers. If she didn't, what good was she?

She stamped down that feeling of insecurity, the one that still reared its ugly head more often than she liked.

She turned over to find her husband's still sleeping (and shirtless) form. The cover had ridden down and she had an excellent view of his bare chest, now extremely well-defined and toned from all his training and exercise regimen.

 _Not the worst way to start the morning,_ she mused with a soft smile, followed by a grimace. She felt wrong smiling, being happy with this stubborn six-footed ginger idiot when their best friend was lying in a hospital cursed by god only knew, and there she was admiring her husband's chest. Still her eyes couldn't seem to stop themselves as they roved over his toned arms, the muscles marred by the swirled tentacles of the brain scars which almost seemed to form a mosaic path up to the hard, ugly circle of his splinch scars.

All he'd done, all he'd lost and still, he thought nothing of sacrificing himself, he thought nothing of diving headfirst into a battle against an unknown opponent who seemed seven steps ahead of them already. He never thought of sacrificing himself.

Her heart flooded, ready to burst with love for him. She was slightly mournful that he would never see himself the way she did. He didn't think of himself as brave, or blindingly loyal or exceptionally strong. He looked in the mirror and saw his flaws. His tendency toward self-loathing infuriated her. He was worthy of so much love and praise and devotion. But at the same time, his humility was endearing. She knew more than anyone knew what it was like to be insecure. She hid hers with striving for perfection. He hid his with his humor and acting like he took nothing seriously. Sometimes when she just looked at him, she swore she could feel her love coursing through her veins, almost like her magic. It stirred her heart even more.

Then suddenly, she remembered she was upset with him. He was doing reckless things like going off on his on without telling her what he was up to.

The prat.

She would never understand how someone could make her melt and infuriate her all at the same time. He still hadn't told her what he'd been doing the day before.

 _OH, and you've been completely honest with him, have you,_ retorted a voice in her head. She immediately reasoned that that was different. She had her orders from Kingsley. Her course of action was Ministry-sanctioned. _Then why haven't you told your husband, Mrs. Granger-Weasley?_ There was the voice again. It sounded strangely like Mrs. Weasley.

She sighed. It really did feel like sixth year. The mere mention of Voldemort already had them splitting in different directions. She hated it. And she hated herself for being such a coward.

She'd rather resort to omission then deal with the row she knew would ensue. Of course, the row would be even worse if, by some unfortunate chance, Ron found out anyway.

Hermione decided not to dwell on that. It bemused her slightly that despite the fact that they were married and deeply, madly in love, she still couldn't stop herself from doing things to push his buttons. Just like he couldn't help but rise to her provocation.

 _What a pair we are,_ she thought with a shake of her head. _But I'd have it no other way._

"Can't sleep?" a rather drowsy voice interrupted her thoughts.

She turned to see her husband, barely awake himself, watching her through groggy eyes.

"No," she admitted with a sigh. "You?"

Ron shook his head. "Only a bit, feels like none at all."

Wanting to prolong her time away from the office, she rolled over and rested her head on his chest. "I love you," she couldn't stop herself from saying.

She had no idea why she felt the need to say it. Maybe she was scared or anxious. Maybe she felt guilty. Or maybe, she just wanted to hear him say it back.

"I love you, too." Her heart lept and somersaulted. Yup, that was definitely it. she needed him to say it.

His hand found its way into hers as they melded into each other. "I don't want to leave bed," she admitted. "Whatever's waiting, I'm sure it won't be good."

Ron chuckled drily. "I know what you mean. But we can't hide out here forever."

"Can't we? Just stay in our own little corner, tucked away from all this madness, just you and me." She planted a kiss on his chest as if to emphasize the appeal of her suggestion.

He shuddered slightly under her touch. "I'd love nothing better, but whatever's out there would probably find its way in eventually."

 _You have no idea,_ Hermione thought with a bit of derision.

"You're right, but I wish we could stay here."

He looked down at her and brushed a curl away from her cheek. "Me too," he said softly. Their eyes met and lingered for a lengthy, heated moment. Ron finally broke the moment and leaned down to brush his lips against hers. He'd meant it to be brief and transitory. Hermione clearly had other ideas. She quickly deepened the kiss, pulling his lips into hers, wrapping her arms around his neck and gently working their way to his broad shoulders. Ron returned the kiss eagerly, lazily playing his lips over her own, nibbling at her bottom lip gently.

For a moment, there was no one else in the world. There was only them, ensconced in their covers, shrouded in their love. The world seemed lighter and gentler and lovelier, like all the darkness in the entire universe was vanquished with the meeting of their lips.

But too soon the moment was over. Hermione reluctantly pulled away. When she opened her eyes, she saw the fire burning in her heart mirrored in his eyes which were now a smoky cobalt.

Hermione sighed. "I've got to meet Kingsley. I'd much rather stay here with you."

Ron planted a kiss on her forehead. "As much as I want you to, you'd better go. Can't keep Kingsley waiting." She saw the slight furrow is his eyebrows and she knew that there were questions that he wanted to ask, things he wanted to know. But he didn't ask.

She pecked his lips. "Be careful today, won't you?"

He pecked hers in reply. "I will if you will."

"Deal," she said before surrendering her lips to his again.

With one last, lingering kiss, Hermione left the comfort and warmth of her husband to ready herself for her day. As she stepped into the shower, the hot water running over, making her more aware of the sore muscles in her back, strained from hours of hunching over books, she thought of the conversation she'd had with Kingsley the day the Dark Mark had been discovered at Luna's.

" _I'm sorry to keep you from the action," Kingsley had said as he poured two glasses of Firewhiskey. The two were sitting on the small sofa in his office. "I know you'd much rather be with Ron and Harry. But's that official Auror business. When this gets out—and it will—it'll be best if this is done by the books." He held out the glass to her._

" _Isn't it a little early for that?" Hermione asked with a wry grin. Kingsley did not return it._

" _No," was his one-word, stoic reply. He took a sip and waited for her to do the same._

 _When she didn't, he insisted. "Trust me, Hermione, you'll need it. To the Fallen Fifty," he said raising his glass._

 _Never one to pass up a salute to those who they had lost, Hermione raised her glass. "To the Fallen Fifty," she chimed in and they clinked their glasses together. She took a small sip, feeling the heady, burning liquid make a path down her throat, warming her insides, making her slightly lightheaded from the moment it touched her lips. Kingsley took a larger sip from his glass before setting it down. It seemed to do nothing for him. He didn't even relax his shoulders._

 _He wrung his hands together, and Hermione realized she hadn't seen him so agitated since the Seven Potters. She remembered how he had protected her, how they had fought off Death Eaters. Somehow, it felt like they were getting ready for that again. She wondered if she should brew Polyjuice Potion and round up the Thestrasls._

 _After a long moment of silence, Kingsley met her eyes. "Hermione, what I am about to tell you, I'm certain, will shock you. This prophecy is not...is not...entirely unexpected."_

 _What? Of all the things Hermione had expected to Kingsley hadn't to say that. How could anyone anticipate a prophecy? What did that even mean? And who had expected it? What was going on?_

" _Hermione?" Kingsley prodded and Hermione realized she hadn't said anything for several moments._

" _What?" was all she could manage when she finally found her voice. For all her logic, reasoning, magical prowess and unbreakable will, she could not make sense of what Kingsley said. "I don't know what you mean."_

 _Kingsley rubbed his lips together and Hermione gathered that he was trying to find words to explain, which was never a good sign. "Hermione, in all your research, in all your diligent studies, did you ever read about a Seer by the name Bisera Dimov?"_

 _Hermione thought for a second. The name didn't ring a bell. She didn't recall it from Hogwarts: A History. She shook her head._

" _Not to my recollection. Why?"_

" _I wouldn't have expected to you to. She died in 1585, not to mention she lived in Bulgaria. But during her lifetime, she made several prophecies, including two about Voldemort. One came to pass during the First War. The other..."_

" _...Has something to do with the one Trelawney made?" Hermione offered._

 _Kingsley smiled at her. "Sharp as ever. That's why you have to do this."_

" _What did the prophecy say exactly?"_

 _The Minister of Magic sighed and Hermione suddenly realized how much he'd aged in five years. The lines around his eyes and his mouth, the strain in his eyes. He shut his eyes for a moment and began to recite, almost as if he'd memorized it long ago, almost as if were timetables:_

" _Darkness will rise. Darkness will fall. Darkness will rise. Darkness will fall. Five seasons of peace shall past. The Peace is a lie. A fallen fighter lost to all but one. Controlled by hate, doing the Dark Lord's bidding, blood will be shed. Nothing can stop it but blood."_

 _Hermione's heart had sunk a little lower with every word Kingsley had uttered. She couldn't even begin to think what had._

" _What in God's name does that mean?" she'd asked, already frustrated, on the verge of it being too much._

 _Kingsley shrugged. "That's what I need you to figure out."_

" _Me? Kingsley, have you never read my school transcripts? I was absolute rubbish at Divination."_

" _This particular task doesn't require you to look inside your crystal ball. More like to look inside a Penseieve."_

" _I'm not sure I know what you mean."_

" _Well its rumored that Bisera made many more propechies. But after a while, she became a recluse. Her prophecies were only known by her family."_

" _I don't follow."_

" _Bisera was born in 1510. In 1526, she married a wizard by the name of Avi Krum."_

 _Kingsley paused and when Hermione's eyes widened in recognition, he knew she knew what he was getting at. She said nothing, so he continued._

" _The reason Gellert Grinderwald killed Viktor Krum's grandfather was because he thought Bisera had made a prophecy about him that Viktor's grandfather refused to divulge."_

 _Realization hit Hermione harder than a Knockback Jinx. He didn't want her for the assignment because of her brain, at least, not solely. It was because of who she'd gone with to the Yule Ball with. Hermione had often lamented to herself that in magical world, nothing ever seemed to die. It had a way of coming back, even when it seemed to be impossible, even when you never wanted it to._

 _Weighing her words carefully, she began to explain, "Kingsley...I...I'm not sure I'm the best person for the job." That wasn't saying the half._

" _Hermione," Kingsley said with a sigh and in a tone that left no room for debate. "You're the only person for the job."_

"Divination is such fucking rubbish."

"I couldn't agree more, love, but you know you've been in there for like a half hour?" called Ron's voice.

Hermione's eyes flew open. She hadn't meant to say that aloud. "Sorry, darling, I won't be a moment."

Ron didn't know about her assignment from Kingsley. It was confidential because prophecies made by a Bulgarian witch were considered property of the Bulgarian Ministry. They could not be accessed (or even inquired about) without permission from the International Confederation of Wizards...and that could take up to a month. Technically, Hermione was engaging in espionage, using covert methods to uncover a prophecy that the Ministry might not have been aware of

Frankly, no one had time for such bureaucratic rubbish. People were dying. They had to do what they had to do. But it was confidential, so she couldn't tell her husband.

Or so she kept telling herself that she wasn't allowed to divulge the information to her husband, therefore she hadn't. Because she was Hermione Granger-Weasley, thank you very much, and she wouldn't be caught dead breaking the rules even if it meant being less than truthful with her husband. She had to follow the rules.

Of course, there was another reason she couldn't tell her husband that she was meeting Viktor Krum in a Ministry safehouse that afternoon.

The jealously prone git would most likely go into a tantrum. It would be fourth year all over again. He'd row and rage and lose his mind and part of her knew she should opt for full disclosure and tell him. However, another part of her (the part of her that enjoyed pushing his buttons, even if was just to be reminded of how much he loved her, almost looked forward to it) simply wanted to let it play out.

She knew she wasn't much better. She'd screamed bloody murder not a month before when she found out Lavender Brown was now an Investigative Archivist for the Department of Magical Law and had an office five feet away from Ron's.

Before she could think anymore, Ron's head peeked into the shower. "No rush, love, but I kinda need to get in here myself."

She turned to look at him. He was still shirtless. Her eyes twinkled brightly and a wry grinned crossed her features. "Then why don't you come and join me?"

Ron's ginger eyebrows shot up. He briefly thought about the all he had going on at work and not taking her up on her offer. But only briefly. Without even thinking, he stepped out of his boxers and stepped into the shower.

He stalked over to her, the showerhead immediately drenching his hair, making it look redder somehow.

"That is a brilliant idea," he said in that familiar husky tone that always set her heart racing. He pulled the shower curtain closed with a flourish of his hand, willing them to shut the world and all its mayhem out for as long as possible.

~ _Vicit es Validum~_

Molly Weasley arrived in Gringotts and was immediately ushered to the front of the line. "Mrs. Molly Weasley to visit her vault," announced a goblin named Jabhard.

One of the senior goblins, who introduced himself as Catchpeg, smiled (or what Molly thought was a smile). "Mrs. Weasley, how good of you to come. You'll find that your vault has been moved."

"Moved?" Molly was surprised. "Where? How?"

"It was merely placed back in its original location. As you know, the Weasley Vault was moved to the 25th sublevel following the Incident of 1798."

Molly colored slightly at that. The Incident of 1798 was a rather long and lengthy story about the Weasleys' fall from grace. Suffice to say it was a series of blunders that caused the Weasleys to lose their title, their wealth and political power. It wasn't a subject one brought up, especially around Aunt Muriel. Fiendfyre was likely to break out.

"The increased number of Galleons," Catchpeg continued. "Requires greater security so we've moved it back to the 1st sublevel between the Malfoy and Slughorn vaults."

Molly listened as the Goblin led her underground and on top of the cart that would whisk them through the halls of Gringotts.

When it finally came to a stop, Molly looked up. She had never been this far below before. She'd never visited Gringotts with her parents and of course she'd married Arthur after his family's fall from grace.

The cart whizzed to a stop. "Key please," said Catchpeg in his unusually high goblin voice. The Wizarding Wars had done very little to improve the relationship between wizards and goblins, something Molly knew Harry desperately wanted to change.

She swallowed the lump in her throat as she thought of Harry, lying in that hospital ward, helpless and weak. The only consolation was his life wasn't in danger.

She was heading straight to St. Mungo's afterwards to camp out with Ginny. She knew nothing of what was really going on. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to.

As the door to her vault opened, she gasped.

"Bloody hell," she said, sounding distinctly like her youngest son.

The once barely filled was now teeming with Galleons, rising to the very ceiling of the vault. Molly could barely keep her composure. "Mr. Catchpeg," she said in what she hoped was a steady voice. "The keys...to the properties, where are they?"

Mr. Catchpeg nodded. "They are here," he said pointing out a small shelf nearly obscured almost completely the millions of gold coins. On the top shelf, there was an envelope with the crest of the House of Prewett as its seal. A wave of emotion threatened to drown Molly as she blinked back tears. Her hand trembled as she opened the envelope. She could almost feel the magic of her family as she reached for the first key. It was to Verhmelo, the country estate that had been left to her mother. The next was to Rosso. But she didn't see the keys to Rubrum or to Mallory House.

"Mr. Catchpeg, I believe some keys are missing."

Catchpeg leveled her with a suspicious glance. "Certainly not, Mrs. Weasley. All the keys allotted to you are there."

"But I don't see the keys to Rubrum, or Mallory House."

Catchpeg's expression did not change at all. "As I said, all the keys allotted to you are there."

"But Rubrum is the ancestral seat of the Prewetts—,"

"Mrs. Weasley," the goblin interrupted, a sharp edge in his voice. "Everything that is yours is in the vault...even the things made by goblins."

The distaste in his tone was not lost on Molly and considering the fact that Molly had other things to attend to, she decided to drop the matter. But the second she had a moment free, she was going to be making an appointment with the Head of Gringotts. Goblins were prickly creatures, it was best not to upset them. Especially considering her youngest son and his friends had practically destroyed the ruddy place five years earlier.

Molly nodded. "Very well. I think that will be the end of my business today."

Catchpeg nodded curtly and motioned for Molly to exit the vault before him. Something about the whole situation bothered Molly for reasons she couldn't quite understand. She still wondered how the wards had been lifted. If the wards around the vault had been lifted, the keys to the house should've been inside the vault as they had been placed there during the first war.

Molly was deep in thought as she Apparated from Gringotts to St. Mungo's. Her purse was much heavier, as were her thoughts. But she put it out of her mind the second she saw Ginny reading the _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ to Harry in his hospital room.

"How is he?" Molly whispered as she sat down beside her daughter.

Ginny sighed and Molly took note to the dark rings around her eyes. "The fever potion worked, but he's sleeping for most of the time. Too weak to stay awake. The Healers said it's good, the rest." Ginny blinked back tears. "Have you heard from Ron?"

"No. I expect he's far too busy to check in."

Ginny closed the book and placed a hand on Harry's forehead. "I'm scared Mum. What if whoever does this tries again?"

"Ginny, there are ten Aurors around this room. Not to mention, Kingsley doesn't believe Harry was the intended target."

Ginny's eyebrows furrowed. "But who would want to hurt Rolf or Luna? Or Dean, for that matter?"

Molly shook her head, and placed a hand on her daughter's shoulders. "Don't you worry on it. They'll figure it out. Harry needs you now."

Ginny nodded. She knew her mother was right. She had to be strong for her husband's sake. A part of her couldn't help but feel guilty. She'd been so angry with him. She knew his main concern was about her well-being. Her response to was to blow up about wanting to keep her out of the action.

They'd had enough action for a lifetime, for ten lifetimes. And now there he was, white as a banshee, dripping in sweat, barely able to keep his eyes open. Of course, he didn't want her anywhere near this. She didn't want him anywhere near it either.

"How was the bank?" she asked her mother through a hoarse voice.

Molly shook her head slightly. "Odd. The vault is...well...it's filled. It's more money than I ever knew we had. But something's...odd. They refused to give me the keys to Rubrum."

"But isn't that where you grew up?" Ginny asked, barely listening, smoothing Harry's hair away from his face, the scar on his forehead just as prominent. She ran a finger over it lightly. Sometimes, when she was angry with him, she'd forgotten that he'd been cursed.

It had never mattered much to her that he'd been marked as the Dark Lord's equal (except for that embarrassing stretch between the moment she met him and her fourth year at Hogwarts). After a while, he was just Harry. Ok, so he was never just Harry. He was her Harry.

"Why don't you have Bill check into it?" Ginny suggested as she rearranged the coverlet over Harry for the hundredth time that hour. She sighed. She really had become her mother. Her and Hermione both channeled Molly Weasley when it came to their husbands. Furious at them one moment, full of unyielding devotion and love the next.

"I had thought of that. Perhaps the goblins want to keep Rubrum and Mallory House as collateral."

"Collateral for what?"

One side of Molly's mouth turned up and she looked fondly at Harry. "Your brother and husband destroying the place."

Ginny smiled wryly at that. "I guess saving the world doesn't go very far in their book."

"Not the Wizard's world," Molly said with a sigh. "Goblins could easily be rid of us all and not bat an eye."

"Well, I'm sure Bill will be able to figure it out. I want to tell Harry all about it. But he's in and out so much..." Ginny's voice trailed off as she choked back a sob. "Who knows how long he'll be like this?"

Molly took her daughter 's hand in hers. "Ginny, everything will be fine. I know it's bleak right now, but we'll get through it. When we're on the other side of it, it'll seem like nothing ever happened. He'll be back on his broom, flashing his Auror badge and driving you absolutely barmy."

"Is that how you felt when Dad..." Ginny stopped herself. She realized she was a glutton for punishment, bringing up such a horrible memory at an already horrible time.

Molly pulled her daughter into her arms. "Dear, I'd always known that we wouldn't get through the war unscathed. We didn't the first time. But no matter what, we make it through. We always have. We always will. When your father was attacked by that blasted snake, I was worried sick. But we made it through. And we'll make it through this."

"I know. I wish there was more I could do. I'm just sitting here."

"You're where you need to be. Harry will mend twice as quickly with you here. Let Ron worry about all of this. You stay here. I'm right beside you."

Ginny sighed softly. Even though she was a full-grown woman, it was nice to be mothered every now and then. Especially when your mother was Molly Weasley.

 _~Vicit et Validum~_

"Remind me why I'm doing this?" asked Hermione as Kingsley Summoned her a cup of tea.

"Because you are the only connection, he has in all of Britain."

"Do better, Kingsley. There are so many people, my husband included, that would literally have a heart attack if they knew about this. Not to mention if some cow like Rita Skeeter found out. Why is it so important? Why is it so significant?" She sat on the couch in Kingsley's office, she could still feel Ron's lips on her neck, still feel his hands gripping her waist, pinning her against the shower tile, his fingertips pushing into her hips.

She wanted to be at home with him, not embarking on some clandestine quest that might prove to be totally insignificant.

"Hermione?" Kingsley's voice cut through her thoughts. She met her boss with a clear gaze.

"Just tell me why, Kingsley," she prodded again. "I need to know why."

Kingsley studied Hermione for a moment and for a moment she wondered if he trying to find something of the girl she was when he'd met her. But those days were over. They were not children, blindly following Dumbledore's vague missives. She was going to get the answers she required.

Kingsley seemed to comprehend that as well. "We believe that she may have told her family something important. If she did, Viktor most likely knows. And we need to know." he said finally. "Viktor will not disclose this information to an Auror or a Ministry Official. He does not trust the British Magical Authorities. And after his experiences during the TriWizard tournament, who could blame him? But you, an old friend, someone he feels he can trust, he may just open up to you."

Hermione blinked several times. "I'm sure if Viktor knew something about this, he would bring it forward. If he thought there was a connection, I'm sure he would not hide it. National differences aside, people are dying."

Kingsley sighed. "Sometimes I forget you're Muggle-born" He saw her bristle at that and quickly amended himself. "Why do you think there was a need for a TriWizard Tournament or an International Confederation? For as long as there have been witches and wizards, there have been wars. Bulgarians don't necessarily trust us with what they consider their state secrets. And the Dark Arts are viewed differently there."

"Viktor isn't a Death Eater," Hermione said quickly.

"I didn't say he was. I'm just saying he may know something."

Hermione was absolutely gobsmacked. This whole thing was becoming entirely too complicated. How many different chess pieces were you allowed to have on a board? How many triangles could one fit inside a circle?

"This is probably the work of a Death Eater who's still at large."

"Probably. But these are dark times, Hermione. We cannot take the risk of probabilities. People like Tom Riddle, they play a long game. Whatever secret he had, it's out of whatever bag he hid in it. We have to stop it. We have to chase down every lead we can."

Hermione didn't speak. Words never failed her, but they seemed completely and totally useless. If Kingsley was right and Viktor knew something they had to know. If he'd knew something that could shed some light on things, they had to know. Harry was depending on her and Ron to figure it out. They couldn't fail him. They couldn't fail Dean.

She had no idea how to even begin. All she could think about is the rather rude and choice words Ron would spew if he found out what she was doing.

 _~Vicit et Validum~_

Ron felt like 300 Hippogriffs were sitting on his chest. He needed answers. He needed to figure this out. He needed to fix this. After Hermione had left, he lingered in the bathroom, the gears in his brain shifting, turning, trying to find a place to land, trying to find an open place on the board. The whole thing made him feel like he was weighed down, like there was a fucking Hungarian Horntail sitting on him.

He wished Hermione was there. He wished they were having breakfast together right then. He wished they were still fooling around, getting ready to Floo into work. Instead they were jetting off on missions they couldn't tell each other about.

A heavier feeling still settled into the pit of his stomach. Trying times could tear people apart. They were stronger than they had ever been. They weren't kids anymore and there wasn't a Horcrux preying on their weaknesses and worst fears. Surely, they could get through this unscathed.

"Keep telling yourself that," his mirror said with a smirk as Ron cast a Shaving spell over his features. He shook his head, he had bigger things to focus on. He knew he was running on autopilot and he got ready to head into the office. Things like making sure his robes were neat seemed ridiculous as he headed into the Ministry.

"Neville, with me," he said upon entering Auror Headquarters. "We've got to go see Ollivander's daughter, Tana. Then we're going back to Rolf's."

Neville looked confused for a moment. "We've swept their residence twice already. Haven't found anything."

"I know. But I want to talk to Rolf and Luna. Someone wanted them to take that curse. Harry just got in the way. The questions is why."

"Why would they want to curse Rolf and Luna?"

"Well, Luna is pretty...outspoken."

Neville couldn't argue with that. "Yeah, but she's outspoken about creatures and conspiracy theories."

"If Voldemort is back in some from, Luna and Xeno would be the first to know, even if they did have some right barmy idea about he got there."

A cloud settled over Neville's features. "True. Do you think we need to move them into protective custody?"

Ron shrugged. "There hasn't been another move made against them yet. No disturbances reported. But better safe than sorry."

"Something doesn't make sense," Neville said as they started walking toward the Portkey Station.

"Nothing ever does, these days."

"If Luna did know something, why wouldn't they just k-kill her?"

He had a point. Obviously, these people didn't know Luna. She wouldn't let anything like a curse keep from speaking her mind. There was no Silencing Charm strong enough to stop her.

Ron shrugged again, tired of being able to offer nothing better than more questions. At least, during the Wars, they knew who the enemy was. Voldemort, the Dark Lord, He Who Must Not Be Named, Tom Riddle. He and all who followed him were the enemy. Well, he was dead and whoever this follower of him was, they'd worn out their welcome. Ron looked at Neville and knew he was just as determined as himself.

They reached the Portkey point. "How's Harry?" Neville asked, looking at his watch.

"No change, I'll be heading over there once we're done with all this."

"I'll drop by with Hannah later."

"When's the big day again?"

"Four months," Neville said with a smile. "Did Hermione make you try eight different cakes?"

Ron laughed. "Fourteen actually. Seven Muggle, seven magical. Then explaining to my entire family that they couldn't do magical toasts around Hermione's, that was hilarious. One of her cousins has a huge thing for Charlie."

"Does she have scales and breathe fire? Because that's the only way she'll catch Charlie's eye."

Ron laughed, for the first time in what seemed forever. He hadn't realized how muc this whole thing had taken out of him. If only he knew it was just beginning.

Since Ollivander's daughter and her whole family was under protection, they had to Portkey into the safehouse which was Unplottable, Imperturbed and under a Fidelius Charm. Kingsley was not taking any chances. Too many people had died already.

"You ever met her?" Neville asked as they made their way into the drawing room.

Ron shook his head. "No, but if she's anything like her father...well, hopefully she'll be able to tell us something." He had good and bad memories of Shell Cottage, the ones dealing with Ollivander fell somewhere in the middle.

But Tana Ollivander Shafiq was nothing like her father at least not in the looks department. She was tall, brunette with very intense blue-gray eyes which showed signs of tears and strain. Her father and her brother were missing, Ron reminded himself. If it were him, he knew he'd be rather mental. More like completely mental, but he wanted to give himself some credit.

She entered the room but did not sit down. Ron and Neville stood by the fireplace, waiting. "Have you found my father and brother?" she asked.

Neville's eyes flickered to his shoes. "No ma'am," he said.

"We need your help," Ron told her meeting her eyes.

"I don't know what I can do, but I'll try," she motioned for them to sit down in the chairs opposite her own, between a small, round table. She conjured up a tea set complete with biscuits. "I was sorry to hear about your friend," she told Ron as the teapot began brewing on its own volition.

"Thank you," he said with a smile. He looked at her teapot. "You know, it's illegal to charm Muggle objects." His grin told her he had no intention of reporting her.

"This from the man who flew a flying car to Hogwarts his second year?"

Ron's eyebrows rose, but Tana merely smiled. "I do my research Mr. Weasley. And you are quite famous. My daughter has three of your Chocolate Frog cards. You're her favorite war hero."

Ron tried his hardest not to blush. He didn't quite think of himself as a war hero. "I only did what anyone would have done."

"I highly doubt that every pureblooded wizard with everything to lose if the Dark Lord had succeeded would've been so open in defying him," Tana said as she stirred her tea. Then she laughed with more than a tinge of darkness. "In fact, I'm sure of it. Not when staying neutral would've been so much easier." The Ollivanders had steered clear of the Battle, going into hiding and staying there until it was done.

"The Dark Lord?" Neville asked, a slightly sharper edge in his voice.

Tana took a sip of her tea and leaned back in her chair. "I am repulsed by Voldemort's beliefs and actions, but I respect his sorcery. He was a great wizard, terrible, but great. His magical prowess cannot be understated, no matter how he tried to wield it."

Ron felt his temper rising and he had a sudden urge to tell this woman about his brother and Neville's parents. Voldemort had been a psychopath, cold-hearted killer. There was nothing great about him, no matter how well he could cast a spell.

"He kidnapped and tortured your father," Ron reminded her, fighting down the ire in his voice.

"It is not something I would expect anyone but a studier of wandlore to understand," Tana added on, possibly sensing the growing tension in the room.

That got Ron's attention. "So you have studied wandlore?"

"You think my father would've had it any other way."

"Have you ever heard of a destroyed wand reemerging?" Ron was trying to be delicate about the situation. Neville didn't know all the details. Ron hadn't been authorized to inform him. He trusted Neville, but until they had solid proof, he didn't want to alert him unnecessarily. But that didn't stop Neville's eyes boring into Ron's skull, oozing curiosity.

Tana eyes widened. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting that. "A destroyed wand?" she rolled the words around on tongue as if they were foreign. She seemed to retreat into her mind, her eyes were on them, yet clearly focused somewhere else.

Ron and Neville just waited, watching the gears turn in her mind. "It is possible," she said slowly and finally after what seemed three eternities. "It is called the _caduceus geminae_. If a wizard wishes and is willing—for the spellwork is quite complex and some might even say, dark—they can create a duplicate of their wand."

"Would any wizard be able to use it?"

Tana hesitated. "Yes, but only things the other wizard would permit."

"And if the wizard was dead?"

"The wand would get stronger."

Ron went white. "Stronger?"

"A duplicate wand is created by taking the elements of your original wand, the wood and the core and then a piece of the magical core of the wizard."

Neville grimaced. "How do you get a piece of your own core?"

Tana gave Neville a searching look. "Something tells me you'd rather not know, Mr. Longbottom."

Neville decided not to push the point.

"As I was saying, if the wizard dies, the rest of the core would then embed itself in the wand, causing the wand to have the magical power of its once-owner. It becomes almost a wand that control itself."

Ron let the information wash over him. A wand that controlled itself. Almost. "Could it kill anyone on its own?"

Tana shook her head. "No, it would still need a wizard to wield it. But the wizard would have to be very careful. For the wand would think for itself and he'd have to have complete mastery over it, something which would be very difficult if it wasn't its original owner."

"Can a wand ever control a wizard?"

"In some cases, yes, but only if another wizard had made it so. There are many spells that they do not teach at Hogwarts, Mr. Weasley. And there are far many more you will not find an Auror textbook. There is much magic considered too powerful to wield, well too dangerous in any event."

Ron could not count the times he'd been in Ollivander's with his family to get their wands and when he finally got his own. But until that moment, he had a newfound respect (and slight fear) of wands and what they could do. He didn't know how right he was to have that fear.

"Can you think of any reason why someone would want to kidnap wandmakers?"

Tana didn't answer right away. When she did, her voice had changed, as if she had figured something out. "Mr. Weasley, I think it's time you level with me. Is the Dark Lord back? Or is it his wand?"

Neville's teacup crashed onto the ground, smashing into a thousand pieces.

~ _Vicit es Validum~_

Hermione refolded the napkin in her lap for the eightieth time, fretting over where this was a brilliant idea or the stupidest thing she had ever done. Granted, it had been Kingsley's idea—no, it had been Kingsley's order. It did make sense, but it was complicated.

Complicated because it could be for naught. Viktor might be completely unaware of his ancestor's prophecies. She didn't know. And she was growing increasingly more frustrated with the whole thing. How many dead ends, ancient secrets and cryptic missives were they going to have to figure out?

Dumbledore might have been dead and buried, but his methods were alive and well. She groaned inwardly at her frustration. It wasn't getting her any closer to helping Harry or to catching whoever was wreaking all this havoc.

She couldn't concentrate on the bland salad in front of her, as she waited in the Ministry safehouse somewhere on the outskirts of Brighton. Aurors were surrounding the place. Viktor was being escorted there at that moment. A series of Portkeys were bringing there. She had barely a half hour to herself.

She didn't want to think about Ron. She couldn't stop thinking about Ron.

She distracted herself with thinking about the Weasleys and their newfound wealth. Ron had never mentioned the Prewett side of his family, not after his grandparents died anyway. Hermione had learned in the summer before fifth year that the long dead uncles were never mentioned. Probably too painful for Molly. The only person who could probably fully understand was George.

Hermione wanted to know more. She wanted to know something about the people made Ron who he was. She wondered how different Ron would have been if he'd grown up with that inheritance. Probably less insecure, more self-assured. She couldn't imagine the Weasleys being any less loving than they were, bank balance notwithstanding.

She'd brought a book with her, _The Ancient Families,_ trying to glean some hint of a history that felt lost to her, like the scent of baked bread being carried away on a breeze.

She wanted to chase that scent, wanted to follow it back to the source, to find the bread and give it to her children.

Children? The notion gave Hermione pause. She and Ron had discussed it, but only in the notion of some far away goal. But now it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. The most natural, terrifying thing in the world.

Hermione knew she was no Molly Weasley. She wondered if she was even a Jean Granger. Motherhood seemed like an uncertain and barely materialized portrait of herself, but she could see a portrait of fatherhood for Ron as clearly as she could see the wilting salad in front of her.

She saw him putting their children on a broom, guiding them through the air, holding them tight, making sure they were safe, but not so restricted that they couldn't feel like they were flying.

She saw him reading them _**The Tales of Beedle the Bard**_ while they slept, buying them their schoolbooks, devoting his free time to convert them to the Church of Chudley, and blushing broadly when their children ran up to one their friends, " _That's my daddy, he's a hero!_ "

The notion had her smiling like a court fool. Then she remembered where she was, the task at hand. Viktor would be there in ten minutes.

She had no idea what to say to him. She had no idea where to even begin. It seemed to wrong to just dive right in to this macabre business of prophecies and murders and whatnot. Yet, it seemed wrong somehow to engage in small talk as if they were friends. They weren't. She'd seen him twice since Bill and Fleur's wedding, both at Quidditch events. They had pleasant, albeit brief, exchanges, but nothing of substance.

Would he do what she asked of him? How was she even to go about it?

She realized she'd better come up with a plan soon. The Portkey was set to activate in five minutes. At the very least, she'd hoped Viktor would be happy to see her.

Her hope would not go unanswered. For Viktor Krum was indeed, very happy to see Hermione Granger. He'd been surprised and somewhat alarmed when four British Aurors Portkeyed into his home informing him that Hermione Granger needed to see him immediately and privately. He had not protested. And now he found himself face to face with the girl in question.

"Hermy-own?" he asked, a somewhat curious tone in his voice. The separation clearly had robbed his brain of the correct pronunciation of her name.

She smiled. She should've been irritated. Yet, with the scenario she currently found herself in, it was nice to know some things did not change.

"Viktor," she said, doing her best to sound cordial and professional. "Please sit down," she said motioning to the seat opposite her. He complied and smiled.

"I vas ery surprised to hear vrom vou, Hermy-own," he said with a smile as he sat down.

Hermione returned his smile. "Well, I must confess I hadn't expected to be in touch, Viktor. Would you like some tea, or coffee, perhaps?"

Viktor shook his head. "I am vine, vank ou," he said.

"Very well. Well, I won't waste time. I've brought you here because I need to ask about your grandmother?" _Brilliant, Hermione, you've become as tactless as your husband._

Viktor raised one of his bushy eyebrows. "She died vix ears ago."

"No, no, not your grandmother, your grandmother Bismera, the Seer?"

Viktor's shoulders straightened. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting his. "Vhat about her?" his voice trying and not totally succeeding in his hiding his suspicion.

Hermione took a sip of her tea. "Do you know anything about her prophecies?"

"Vhy?" Whatever Viktor knew he was not going to be divulging it easily.

"Viktor, have you heard about what's going on over here?"

Viktor shuffled in seat. "I ave. Dark Marks and nonsense. Death eaters, no? Vones who ave not been caught?"

"Perhaps," Hermione said. "Some of them may be involved, certainly. A few days ago, Sybil Trelawney made a prediction. Have you heard?"

"I don't concern vyself with a fraud."

"She's not a fraud, not totally. Her prediction is about a secret, something involving Voldemort. A buried secret. It sounds like a prophecy your ancestor made, does it not?"

Viktor was silent for a moment. "Hermy-own, vhat, you vask, I cannot 'ive. It belongs to the blood of Krum."

Hermione jumped at his words. "So you _**do**_ know the prophecies?"

"Still ery biright," he said with a smile. "I cannot say, I am sorry."

"Viktor, please. Harry is in the hospital. Dean Thomas has been killed. Others might be next. I need your help."

Viktor didn't seem moved by her words. He just stared down at the table, then back to her then the table again. Hermione's frustration grew unbearable.

"Viktor, please!" she burst out. "Harry risked his life for us all, as did I, as did my husband. Not to mention he saved your life during the TriWizard tournament. This is bigger than family secrets. This could mean another war."

Viktor studied Hermione for a long moment. He did not speak, just stared and just when she was ready to implore him again, he began to speak.

"My _baba_ Bismera," he said slowly. "Vas de greatest prophetess Bulgaria has ever known. But she did not trust the Vinistry. She was vright. So she only told her visions to her family who vowed to keep them safe. She made two about a lost fighter. One I believe you know already. However, vere was another."

"Go on," Hermione prodded.

Viktor hesitated again. Clearly, this wasn't easy for him. He probably felt guilty, as if he were betraying his family's trust. Well, in Hermione's opinion, being betrayed was much preferable to being dead. The ends justified the means.

He wrung his hands as he spoke, almost as if he was gripping some invisible broom. "It voes something like dis: Vhe fallen fighter will begin his quest for his master's master who knows no master but strength. He will curse those in his path, doing what the Dark Lord could not. He seeks blood, nothing can end it but blood."

Viktor's words washed over Hermione like a rouge waving knocking a boat on its side. Why did always have to be blood? And a master who whose master was strength? What in Merlin's soggy left bollock did that mean?

"Viktor, what you've just told me I need you tell Kingsley."

"'Ou vant me to tell a Bulgarian prophecy to the Vritish Minister of Magic?" Viktor was clearly appalled.

Hermione did not have time to soothe his wound.

"Yes," she said matter of factly. "In circumstances such as these, there can be no secrecy. We have no time to waste."

 _~Vicit et Validum~_

Ron was impressed with Tana Ollivander. She was obviously smart, more than likely cunning and she had a shrewd sense of logic that reminded him of someone. Still, just because she impressed him didn't mean he trusted her.

Her question had him like a Stunning Jinx. Although in hindsight, he shouldn't have been surprised. The only people who understood wands were wandmakers. Considering his line of questioning, not to mention that cow Rita Skeeter, it wasn't a terrible difficult leap.

He felt Neville's earnest gaze boring into his skull. He trusted Neville with his life, he just wasn't sure he was ready to say everything he knew out loud.

"I'm afraid I'm unable to say," he answered her question in a tone that brooked no discussion. She raised an eyebrow at him but she did not ask again.

She sat her teacup down on the table and cleared her throat. " _ **If**_ the Dark Lord _**did**_ create a duplicate wand, rest assured, the wizard or witch that wields it will be the most dangerous magical being to walk the earth," she said finally. "They would be practically invincible. The only thing that would make their invincibility complete is—" Tana's voice trailed off as if she suddenly remembered something.

"Who would Voldemort trust with his wand?" Neville asked out, not noticing that Tana was suddenly silent.

Ron heard Neville's question, but did not take his eyes off Tana.

"The last person you'd suspect," Ron said as he got up from his chair.

"I assume you'll be in touch, Mr. Weasley?" Tana asked.

"We will."

As they exited the safehouse and all the magical protection it afforded, Neville stopped in his tracks and turned to face Ron.

"Are you going to tell me or not?" he asked.

Ron shrugged. "Mate, you don't want to know."

"Maybe I don't. But I'm pretty sure I need to. Dean was my friend, too. We were all there in that room. You and Harry might've been always skulking off under that damn cloak...but we were all there."

Ron sighed. Neville was right. It was time for full disclosure. Vagueness and obscurity only made everything take too damn long. How many times had he wished Dumbledore would've just spelled it out for them? it would've saved them a lot of time and misery.

"The wand that killed Dean, that killed Alexa Scrimengeour, that make the Dark Marks...it was Voldemort's wand."

Neville went ashen. He turned back to look at the safehouse which was now invisible to their eyes. "Do you think that he...?"

"I don't know. But I wouldn't bloody fucking put it past him."

"We're fucked." Neville's expression was grim.

"Really articulate there, Longbottom."

"Well, we are, aren't we?"

Ron couldn't argue the point. "Aye. I'd say so. Definitely fucked."

"I need a drink."

"I need several. But it'll have to wait. We better head to the office, tell Kingsley what she said. Then we'll head round to Luna's and Rolf's. It's funny Rolf hasn't been in touch since."

"We stationed Aurors at their house, right?"

Ron shook his head. "Rolf didn't want it, said it wasn't necessary."

"That's kind of odd, isn't it?"

"It's _**Rolf**_. What isn't?" Ron said quickly, but then he thought for a moment. It was odd. Rolf may have had Boggarts that turned into Dementors with a flourish of his wand, but he'd had a Dark Mark burned into his fireplace.

They Apparated back to the Ministry. Ron decided to check in with Hermione before heading back to Kingsley's office to give a report.

Ron Weasley had been through a lot in twenty-three years. War, loss, illness, curses, grief, insecurity, and enough life-threatening situations to fill the pages in a dictionary twice.

"Hey, love—," the words died in his throat as he took in a scene that none of his remarkable, freakish and dangerous experiences had prepared him for.

The scene was one Hermione Granger-Weasley, sitting on her couch, eyes dancing with laughter at something that clearly had just clearly come from the lips of Viktor Krum.

 _ **KEEP READING**_


	6. Chapter 6: Jousting

_**Jousting**_

All the laughter died in Hermione's throat when she heard Ron's voice. They'd been waiting for Kingsley to come to her office as the Minister had a full plate of meetings and had to find a moment to squeeze them in.

The two had been catching up, Viktor had been animatedly telling Hermione about the time a Dragon had gotten loose in a Muggle area of Bulgaria the summer before.

Everything had been perfectly fine until the blasted door opened.

Hermione's eyes went wide at the sight of her husband who stood just as wide-eyed as herself, ears already reddening and his shoulders were quite, quite tense. Bugger.

She leapt up from her couch, knowing she had only a few seconds to diffuse this situation which was as volatile as a standoff between McGonagall and Umbridge. "Ron," she said a touch too loudly and smiled definitely too widely. Viktor turned in his chair and plastered a smile on his face.

"Hello, Ron," Viktor said with what Hermione prayed was sincere warmth.

Ron still hadn't found his voice. He just stood there, in the doorway, gripping the handle, still as the Sphinx. He opened his mouth but before he uttered a sound, Kingsley appeared in the doorway behind him.

"Ron, good, you're here, too," said the older wizard, oblivious to the awkward, heavy tension that had entered the room. He turned, and eyed Kingsley curiously as if he heard Kingsley from a great distance and couldn't believe he was right behind him.

Ron finally realized he was blocking Kingsley entry into the office and quickly stepped inside. "Sir," was all he managed. He hadn't looked at Hermione. It was almost as if he couldn't.

Kingsley stepped inside. "I suppose you can brief him now, Hermione," he said nodding towards Ron. "Krum, good to see you. Thank you for helping. I cannot tell you much it means."

"Anything for Hermy-own," Viktor said with a grin. Hermione winced inwardly and she noticed that Ron's ears were now the color of ripe tomatoes. Not a good sign.

She cursed herself inwardly. She knew this was going to happen, or at least she should have. She turned to face her husband whose face had turned to composed stone. He met her eyes with a neutral expression, but a flashing gaze in his eyes, not to mention ears that were going from tomato red to beet juice. She cleared her throat almost inaudibly.

"Ron, Viktor is here because of the prophecy," she began quickly. "His grandmother was a famous Seer, Bismera Krum."

A small flash of recognition filled Ron's eyes which Hermione found somewhat encouraging so she continued. "She made a prophecy that seems to pertain to the one that Trelawney made."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Right." One-word answers were also not a good sign.

"Yes, yes," Kingsley said as he sat down on Hermione's couch. "Viktor," he said, addressing the former Quidditch star warmly but firmly. "I need to know what your grandmother said all those years ago."

Viktor nodded. "It is vifficult, 'ou know, to say, to reveal the secrets of the Blood of Krum."

Hermione prayed no one saw's Ron very noticeable eyeroll.

"I know, Viktor," Kingsley said understandingly going to sit opposite Viktor while Hermione settled back behind her chair.

Ron absentmindedly took the chair opposite her, but said nothing. He placed his hand on the table, drumming his fingers. She reached for it, but he yanked it away. The prat.

His persistence in ignoring her stung. Although she had an idea of what was going on in his head (not to mention this was an entirely characteristic reaction), she still felt that he was overreacting. Then again, he hadn't had much of a reaction at all.

Which was the whole problem. Ron was a Weasley, high-strung, boisterous, risk-taking, absolutely no regard for decorum when they were in a temper. His outbursts she could handle, his silence was unprecedented and jarring.

 _Oh, don't act so surprised,_ the logical voice said in her head. _You knew perfectly well this was going to happen if he found out. You know how he feels about Krum. You know how you would feel if you came into his office and saw Lavender there. You'd set birds on them both._

But no one ever said getting a taste of your own medicine was easy. She knew she couldn't focus on her and Ron at the moment. She had to focus on the exchange between Kingsley and Viktor.

 _~Vicit et Validum~_

Livid. He was livid. He had never had an occasion to own the word, but he did now. With everything that was going on, and now this, fucking Krum. Of all the things he did not need, Krum ranked right up there with a heart attack and a case of spattergroit on his bollocks.

How did the hell did any of this lead back to him? Ron had a vague recollection of a famous Seer, something Aunt Muriel had been rambling about one day or another.

He listened to Viktor go on about some ancient prediction that apparently had something to do with the recent prediction. He heard every fourth word if he heard any.

Every so often he cut his eyes at Hermione, furious at her. So, this was her top-secret mission? Bringing Krum in? He was chasing down leads, trying to figure out this wand crap and how the hell he was supposed to help Harry and stop whoever was doing this and she was schmoozing Krum.

There they were, chatting it up like old friends. She hadn't told him. She hadn't even bothered. Of course, she hadn't. She figured she would have her tete-a-tete with Viktor, get it all out of the way, and he'd be none the wiser.

"What do you reckon, Ron?" Kingsley said, in a tone that suggested it wasn't the first time Kingsley had addressed him.

He sat up straight. "Sorry, what?"

Kingsley smiled. "I was just asking what you thought about the prophecy?"

Ron blinked twice. He barely remembered what Krum had said. "Um, it's an interesting development. Could prove to be useful." Hermione shot him a knowing glance.

"That's what I thought," Kingsley said. "Your back earlier than I anticipated. Have anything for me?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I do. A lot, actually." Kingsley perked up at that. So did Hermione, and so did Krum.

"But," Ron quickly added. "We should discuss it privately." Another cutting glance from Hermione which he roundly ignored.

Kinglsey nodded. He faced Krum. "Viktor, thank you for help."

Viktor stood, shaking hands with Kingsley. He turned to face Ron and Hermione. "Lovely to see you, Ron. Hermy-own, please let me know if 'ou veed anything velse."

Ron fought the urge to kick him in the nuts.

"Thank you, Viktor," Hermione said brightly.

Ron said nothing. The sooner the git left the building the better.

When the door to Hermione's office closed and took Viktor with it, Ron did his best to bring the boiling volcano of rage currently stirring inside him down to the level of spewing ash. He could not, would not lose his temper in front of his boss.

Kingsley turned to face Ron with an eager smile. The kind of smile that came with not knowing you had opened Pandora's Box. The kind that came with blissful ignorance. He didn't know how Ron felt about Krum. He had no idea how large of a shadow the Yule Ball cast.

But Hermione did. She knew all too well. Just as he knew why she hadn't told him. He knew that she thought he'd be jealous and throw a tantrum. He also knew that her rationale wasn't totally without foundation. Because of course, he hadn't grown up since sixth year. Because he was still the same insensitive git he was when he was sixteen. It was nice to know her opinion of him was so evolved.

That was the part that stung, now that initial jealous haze was wearing down. She didn't think he would've been mature enough to be professional about it.

So, he would've been miffed, more than miffed, if he was honest. He might've rowed...a bit. Cursed a lot. But he would've understood. She had her orders, just as he had. And there were bigger things going on. Would he have insisted on a couple of his most trusted Auror friends being in the same room? Maybe. Would he have raised objections to high heaven? Undoubtedly. Would he have stopped her? If it meant helping Harry, hell, no.

"Well, Ron, what did you find out?" Kinglsey prodded, reminding Ron that he had bigger things going on at the moment.

He kept his eyes on Kingsley the entire time as he began to explain what Tana Ollivander told him. He heard Hermione gasp, sigh and hum the way she always did when her brain was working relentlessly to figure something out. By the time he was finished, Kingsley looked grave and stunned, while Hermione was already trying to decipher the ever-growing jigsaw puzzle.

"What does any of that mean?" Hermione burst out in frustration. No one replied. No one could reply. "Kingsley, did anything Viktor said in that prophecy ring a bell?"

Kingsley shook his head. "I wish I could say it did, but no. I'm afraid I've never heard of a master whose master knows no master but strength."

"Does that even make sense?" Ron asked clearly over the whole debacle. "I feel like we're going nowhere. We started with one prophecy we didn't understand, now we have three, Harry's still in the hospital and we still have no fucking clue who's doing this."

They were all in the dark, scrambling for answers to questions they didn't know. Ron was sick of feeling like a fool, sick of everything being so cryptic and vague.

Then he realized he had to divulge something else. Kingsley didn't know about his unauthorized visit to Avela Lestrange. Neither did Hermione. But they were getting in the thick of it, jousting an opponent they couldn't see. At this point, none of them could afford to take chances.

Longing for a glass of Firewhiskey, he cleared his throat. "Sir, I have to tell you something else. I believe the Lestranges are involved."

"What?" came from Hermione. "They haven't been spotted in two years. All evidence points to Rabastan being dead."

"Which is probably exactly the way they wanted it," Ron countered cutting his eyes at her.

"What do you mean?"

"Hermione," Ron practically groaned, unable to keep an edge of frustration from his voice. "Clearly, Voldemort has been planning this from day one. This is not some random Death Eater uprising."

"I know," Hermione said in a small voice, the one usually reserved for when she was hurt or feeling insecure.

"All right," Kingsley said, taking control of the room. "What makes you think that, Ron? Something more than a hunch, I'm presuming?" A wry grin was tugging at Kingsley's mouth, the one he always wore when he was somewhere between having to administer discipline as the Minister of Magic, and pride as a former Auror.

He most often had that look when dealing with Ron and Harry. Their experiences during the war had made them bolder.

Ron nodded. "Well, I sort of went to see Avela Lestrange the other day," he said in a half-sheepish, half defiant tone.

Hermione was clearly aghast. "You what? Ronald, you can't do things like that! You're an Auror, for heaven's sake. You can't just go and interrogate people without proper authorization. Can you imagine the firestorm if she decides to level a charge of unprofessional misconduct against you. Not to mention that you could've been killed—,"

"Hermione, I'll take my chances with Avela Lestrange, all right?"

"That's not the point," snapped Hermione, apparently matching his rising temper with her own. "Kingsley, would you tell him?"

Kingsley had been watching them like it was tennis. He bit back a smile, almost as if he was remembering an inside joke. He leaned back on the arm of Hermione's couch.

"While I cannot not condone your actions, Ron, I think I'll reserve judgement until you tell me what you found out." Hermione fought back an eyeroll. She knew that if Kingsley had been in Ron's shoes, he would've done the same damn thing.

Such reckless behavior was the reason Harry a giant magical spider keeping him under at that very moment.

"After I left, Avela sent an owl. An owl with a message about blood traitors being on the move and telling someone to move quickly."

Hermione sighed. "That could mean anything."

Ron squared his shoulders. "Or it could mean everything. If anyone was going to be involved in this, it would be the Lestranges. On the run, Aurors dogging their footsteps. Even if they're not at the forefront, I'd reckon they're in the trenches."

Hermione settled back into her office chair. "What does any of this mean?" she said, more to herself than to anyone else. "What are we supposed to make of all these prophecies?"

"You're the brilliant one," Ron reminded her, for a second forgetting he was angry with her. "I always thought Trelawney was full of shit to begin with."

She scoffed. "Brilliance, that's me. It's doing fuck-all for us right now, isn't it?"

Despite his anger and frustration, Ron felt himself harden. He'd always found it so sexy when she swore. And when she nibbled on her bottom lip the way she was doing that very moment. His blood was still boiling, but there was something besides anger in the brew.

"Don't get frustrated you two," Kingsley told them with a parental smile. "We'll figure this all out."

"Well," Hermione said with a glint of determination in her eyes. "I know what I'm going to be doing for the rest of the day." she'd pulled out a quill land had begun scribbling furiously. "Pidge," she called, using her pet name for Pigwidgeon. "I'm going to Hogwarts. The library has got to have something on all of this."

Kingsley looked surprised. Ron fought back an eyeroll. "'Mione, why can't you just use the Ministry Library?"

She looked at him as if he'd gone as stupid as a troll. "Honestly, Ronald, don't you know that Hogwarts has the most intensive and complete magical texts since the secret library in Alexandria? That's in the very first chapter of _Hogwarts: A History_."

"I didn't read that thing in school, you think I'm reading it now?"

She scoffed in exasperation and the barely diminished tension returned full-force.

"And pray, what may I ask are you getting ready to do?" she asked him coolly, folding her arms.

His eyes matched the coolness in hers as the two of them forgot Kingsley was in the room. Kingsley nearly forgot himself. Watching the two of them was highly entertaining.

"Check on Rolf and Luna," Ron said finally. "Neville's coming with me."

"Ron, why don't you meet Hermione at the library afterwards," Kingsley suggested. "She's right, you know. If there is something written about these prophecies, it'll be there. Normally I'd send a couple of clerks with her...but this is far, far too sensitive."

Ron smiled in a less than believable attempt to hide his protestation. "Sure, of course, Kingsley."

He started for the door. He was almost on his way out when he heard Hermione speak. Her voice was soft and small again. "Be careful."

He turned to face her. Yes, he was angry at her. Yes, he was ready for the row of the century the second they were alone, but he loved her. She was his. He was hers. And despite how hacked off he was, that trumped everything.

"I will." With that, he was off to find Neville.

 _~Vicit et Validium~_

Something wasn't right. Ron felt it immediately, but he couldn't quite place it. Rolf and Luna's home was never this quiet. The place was always crawling with noise from creatures, magical experiments or Xeno on a soapbox about something or other. Usually Ministry Treachery.

He looked at Neville who seemed ill at ease. "Wands out," he whispered as they approached the house, slowly.

There were no lights, no noise, not a single sign of life. Perhaps whoever had paid them a visit had returned. Ron cursed himself for not placing Aurors at their home. if something had happened, it would be his fault. How could he have been so fucking stupid?

He felt his heart sinking as he fought to maintain stealth. If something had happened to them, he'd be devastated. Sure, they were both right barmy, but he thought of Luna meticulously using her wand to decorate her celling with the faces of the people she loved, and Rolf loving Luna despite and for all of her wackiness and his heart swelled with love for them.

 _God, please let them be all right,_ he thought as he as Neville crouched under the first-floor window that looked into their parlor. Ron held his wand up to the window. " _Speculo,_ " he whispered and a tiny mirror appeared from the tip of his wand. He held it to the window, turning it around searching for any signs of movement.

The fireplace was cold. The lights were out. There were no mad creatures running about. It appeared empty.

But as any good wizard knew, appearances were often more than deceiving. sometimes they were just plain misleading.

They approached the door. Ron knocked loudly. "Rolf? Luna?" he called out. No answer. He called their names again and received another silent, empty answer.

" _Alohomora_ ," he whispered and the lock opened.

They entered the living room, wands alight. "Rolf? Luna?" Neville called as Ron methodically began examining the room.

There were gray vials on a small tray by the fireplace, along with empty bowls which Ron figured had once contained porridge. There was also a soft scent of sandalwood in the air. Ron wracked his brain to remember which spells used sandalwood. Where was Hermione when he needed her?

 _Having a date with Viktor Krum, that's where_ , said an annoying voice in his head. He pushed it to the back of his mind, he couldn't think about that at the moment.

"Maybe they're at Xeno's?" Neville offered. "Locked all the creatures up?"

"Maybe," Ron said, although he wasn't entirely convinced.

He floated a vial with wand, uneasy about touching anything with his hands, and brought it close to his face. His eyebrows raised as he the unmistakable—and horrid—scent of Polyjuice potion tickled his nostrils.

"What the bloody hell?" he muttered as he placed the vial back on the tray. What did Rolf and Luna want with Polyjuice? Had they wanted to go into hiding? Were they using it for an experiment?

"Something's not right," Neville said echoing Ron's thoughts.

Before Ron could voice his concurrence, there was a sound of someone Apparating upstairs. By the time he knew he was running, he was already up the staircase, wand out, with Neville hot on his heels.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they were met with the sight of three closed doors. "Rolf? Luna?" Neville called out, partly hopeful, partly suspicious.

The knob on the middle door started to turn and Ron whispered basic defensive spells in his head, readying himself for whatever came through that door.

His heart sped up and relaxed immediately when the door opened to reveal the surprised, but welcoming smiles of Luna and Rolf.

The only thing louder than Ron's sigh of relief was Neville's. "There you two are," he said with a smile.

Luna returned his smile warmly. "Yes we are, Neville, here and you're here as well. It's wonderful to see you. You're covered in Wrackspurts. I've a tonic for that. I'll get you a bottle."

Ron smiled. Luna was Luna still. And he was never happier to hear her talk about all the barmy stuff she wanted. She was there, she was smiling, she was unharmed.

"Fancy a cuppa?" Rolf asked. "We're just back from Xeno's."

"A cup of tea would be great," Ron said. "We were just stopping by to see if you needed anything, or if all has been calm since the other day?"

The four friends headed back down the stairs and Luna went into the kitchen to make tea.

"You know, I still can't think what Death Eaters would want with us," Rolf said shaking his head.

"Settling old scores," Neville mused. "That's probably why they did Dean."

Ron realized that Neville had a point. If they were trying to knock off members of the Order, that would explain why they hadn't killed Rolf. Though Ron could never remember followers of the Dark Lord being merciful.

The three men settled into the parlor and Rolf sparked up the fireplace with his wand.

"Any developments, Ron?" he asked with a broad smile.

Ron shook his head in frustration. "None that are shedding any light. Just more confusion."

Rolf nodded. "Perhaps they've learned something since the War."

"They'll slip up," Ron said with determination. "They always do."

"Maybe," Rolf said twiddling his wand in his hands.

Luna came back floating a tea tray with biscuits. "It's Faluga plant tea, it keeps Barner Litts away."

Ron didn't bother to ask what Barner Litts were. Time with Xeno had taught him a lesson. He stirred his tea, but he didn't dare drink it. He figured it probably tasted like troll bogies.

Neville on the other hand took a large sip...and promptly winced. Ron hid a smile. "So, Luna, how is your dad?"

"Dad is fine. Working on the _Quibbler_ as always. He's writing an expose on Kingsley."

Ron had a rather rude retort on his tongue when he noticed that Rolf's hair looked darker than it had a moment ago. Darker and curlier. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He blinked longer than he normally would, but before he could open his eyes a crash sounded through the room like a cymbal clashing at the end of an aria.

For the second time that day, Neville's teacup had crashed to the floor. But this time, it wasn't because of shock.

Ron's head whipped around as Neville dropped to the floor, foaming at the mouth, convulsing on the ground, his head shaking erratically.

"Neville! Neville! What—?" Ron rushed over to him, trying to figure out what was wrong.

And then a voice that hadn't been there before sent a cold shiver down Ron's spine. " _Avada-,"_

" _Stupefy!"_ Ron yelled without even thinking, sending the curse flying behind him. He whipped around to see that Ron and Luna had morphed into Rabastan Lestrange and Corban Yaxley.

Yaxley, who had taken the curse was knocked back into a cabinet Rabastan turned to look at him and Ron seized his opportunity. " _Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous_!" He couldn't take them, not without backup, not with Neville on the floor, gagging for every breath. He grabbed Neville's hand and Apparated them to St. Mungo's.

They wound up on the first floor waiting room and Ron reached into his Auror kit, the one Hermione insisted he never leave home without. " _Accio_ bezoar." Neville was still shaking and had now turned purple. Ron couldn't move fast enough as he forced the thick rock down his throat.

"Come on, Longbottom," he said as Neville suddenly went as still as a Petrified Ghost. He made no moves, no sound, not a twitch or a breath. Ron felt his own heart beginning to stop.

Finally, Neville coughed. It was equally the most terrible and beautiful sound he'd ever heard. His eyes opened and he struggled to breathe, but he _**was**_ breathing. Which meant he wasn't dead.

"Help! Help me!" he cried to the staff and onlookers who had gathered.

Finally, a Healer rushed over to him. "What happened?"

"Poison, I think. He's an Auror. He's a friend. I used a bezoar."

"Good thinking," the healer said as she began to tend to Neville. "Let's get him to a room, stat."

Ron sent his Patronus to Kingsley to inform him that he'd apprehended two Death Eaters and that Rolf Scamander and Luna were missing. His blood ran cold at the thought. What had they done with them? Where were they? And why, why were they targeted in the first place?

Who was doing this? Who was the terrorist who had declared war on his world and what the fuck were they after? Was this about control, power, ridding the magical community of Muggle-borns? He couldn't make a move when he couldn't see all the pieces on the board.

The only thing he was certain of was that he'd seen way too much of St. Mungo's recently.

Kingsley arrived within minutes, the anger and the anxiety visible in every step he took, in every worn line of his expression. "How is he?" he said to Ron, dismissing his guards to give them a moment of privacy.

Ron shook his head. "Don't know. Haven't heard."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"How are you?"

It was a loaded question. Ron had been running on adrenaline and anger for so long, he couldn't quite say how he was. He wasn't worried about Neville. At least not anymore. He didn't have time to worry about Neville. He didn't have time to worry about Harry. St. Mungo's would take care of them. They were where they needed to be. He wasn't. He had to stop whatever this was.

"Me... I'm...fucking pissed," he settled on finally. It was the only thing he could think of that encompassed everything he felt.

Ron sometimes wondered if Kingsley was a practitioner of Occlumency because seemed to understand every thought that was running through his head. He gave him a strangely knowing look. "That makes two of us."

A healer came running up to them. "Mr. Minister, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom is all right. The poison is Zap's Blood, quite potent, but the bezoar got to him in time. He'll have to stay here for the next few days. Is his next of kin coming?"

"Fuck," Ron muttered. "Someone's got to owl his grandmother. Someone's got to owl Hannah."

"Ron," Kingsley cut in. "I'll handle all that. Thank you, Healer Magarashaw," Kinglsey said with a smile and a nod.

The Healer nodded curtly and walked away. "Ron, you've done your job, and good on you. Neville would be dead without you. But you better get to Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Ron was aghast. "Kinglsey, no. I'm heading to HQ. I'm going to pound the answers out of Lestrange and Yaxley."

The Minister of Magic sighed and geared up for what he knew was going to be a difficult argument.

 _~Vicit et Validium~_

The Hermione Granger Library had never proved so useless to its namesake. It was proving to be almost as useful as the Ronald Weasley Quidditch Pitch, though far less useless than the Harry Potter Great Hall. At least one afforded her a view from the private room Professor McGonagall had conjured up for her.

She'd been through several histories about Bismera Krum, at least three textbooks about ancient prophecies and one extremely long and confusing book about wandlore that sounded more woolly than Divination. She knew she was missing something. She just didn't know what it was. She loathed not knowing. It frustrated and infuriated her. The only that frustrated and infuriated her more was the namesake of the Quidditch Pitch she found herself staring at.

She couldn't read any more words. She couldn't stare at any more books. she knew the answers were somewhere, they had to be. There had to be answers. For some reason, however, the answer seemed to be hell-bent on avoiding her. The nerve of them. She needed a missing piece. It had to be somewhere. She just didn't know where else she should look.

She tried to make sense of what Ron had told her about Tana Ollivander. But Hermione had never paid any attention to wandlore, not even in seventh year when she could've studied in it detail. By then, she'd been focusing on magical creatures. Now she was mentally kicking herself.

From all Hermione could gather from her perusal, wandlore was inexact, uncertain, open to nearly every interpretation one could imagine. The book talked about all the things wands were capable of doing, but there was little to nothing about _**how**_ wands did anything.

Hermione knew that a wand connected to a wizard or witch's core, allowing them to channel their magic and aim it. But that was it.

All this control and duplication nonsense? A wand that was doing the bidding of a wizard that had been dead for five years? Was that even possible? Hermione didn't know and at that moment, she frankly didn't care how. she just wanted to stop them.

They'd defeated Voldemort, surely they could handle whatever this was.

At least, she hoped they could.

she thought about all their time on the run, trying to discover the secrets Voldemort had never revealed. It turned out there were more. But how many more was the question and who had he entrusted with this one?

He never told Bellatrix about the Horcruxes, though she was his most faithful servant. So, who had he trusted more than her?

 _No,_ Hermione thought shaking her head. _Who had he controlled more than her?_

And what had he wanted to protect so much that he was willing to give someone his wand? It obviously wasn't his immortality. Voldemort was obsessed with immortality, invincibility, blood-purity, power...

Power. Wands. Powerful wands. Hermione knew she was on to something. And yet it was eluding her. And driving her barking mad.

She looked out at the window and could see the Hufflepuff team practicing. There were only a few more weeks of term yet, which meant they were probably vying for the Championship. She wished her memoires of Hogwarts were nothing but exams and Quidditch matches.

Watching Quidditch naturally made her think of Ron. Ron, her husband who was currently hacked off at her. She thought he would've been there by now. After all, how long could checking in on Ron and Luna take? It was more likely that he had make some excuse as not to come. Things had quickly soured between them and they'd yet to hash it all out. Given the circumstances, she figured it would be a long time before they did.

She wasn't yet of the state at admitting her own culpability, but she was close. She should've known that he'd find out about Viktor. Fate was a terribly cruel mistress. Love wasn't much better apparently. She'd been fighting the urge to owl him, just to check on him.

It had been so long since she'd heard his voice (she knew she was being dramatic, it had only been a few hours), but she resisted. Her pride had not reduced to the level of admitting she desired him. To admit to wishing for a reconciliation was absolutely insupportable.

Still, she'd wished he would come. She wanted him there, whether she wanted to admit it or not. He'd probably be boiling mad, but at least, he'd be speaking to her. Or in the same room with her. He hadn't been very chatty earlier. Perhaps she could change all that.

She owled Ginny for an update on Harry, sent a message for another cup of tea and put hair up in a bun for the millionth time, as it seemed to be as open to submission as her parents were to magical dentistry.

She reached to pick up another book, _Dark Wizards: A Directory,_ when an owl she didn't recognize came flying through the window. There was a black envelope with a white seal, the mark of secret Ministry Missives.

All thought of the book she had been thumbing through was forgotten, and she quickly yanked open the envelope equally anticipating and dreading its contents.

She read the words slowly not wanting to miss anything hoping it was good news but somehow knowing it wasn't. Good news seemed a thing of the past, obsolete like typewriters and VHS tapes.

It was from Kingsley. She'd know his handwriting not to mention his short, direct manner anywhere:

 _ **Neville injured. Luna and Rolf missing. Ron fine. Sending him to you. -KS.**_

Hermione's mouth dropped. Luna and Rolf missing? And Neville, Neville was hurt. How badly Kingsley didn't say, which Hermione took to mean it was worse than he wanted to write. Tears filled her eyes, but she swatted them away. They would do her no good. Ron was fine, and her heart lifted slightly at that. He was on his way. Ready or not, Kingsley was sending him.

 _~Vicit et Validum~_

At least Kingsley was attempting to send Ron to Hermione. Ron, however, was having none of it. He'd just captured two Death Eaters and he wanted first crack at interrogating them.

"They know, Kingsley, they know," Ron yelled loudly when Kingsley again insisted that Ron join Hermione at Hogwarts to research the prophecy. "And I'm going to get it out them."

"Ron," Kingsley tried again using his most patient voice. "Yaxley and Lestrange are no one's masterminds. They're not even lieutenants. They're foot soldiers, pawns. Whatever they know, it's going to be of little use. They're going to know that had their orders that they followed. But do you really think that whoever's doing this would be smart enough to give them any real intel?"

Ron didn't need to think to agree, he knew Kingsley was right. "But what if they did?" he pressed on.

Kingsley sighed. "Ron, you know as well as I do that the answers to whatever we're looking for aren't in that interrogation room with those two fools. We'll run them through the ringer, try to find out where Rolf and Luna are. But we're wasting time. Whoever's calling the shots has, by now, noticed that they're gone. The answers are with this prophecy. Get to Hogwarts. That's an order," Kingsley added quickly when it looked as if Ron would protest again.

Ron nodded curtly and headed for the nearest fireplace. he usually only went back to Hogwarts for Quidditch Games and to be a guest lecturer for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The thought of going back to Hogwarts to do research seemed none too appealing, but at this rate, Ron was willing to do anything. He now had two friends waylaid. He was sure Neville would be all right (or at least, he hoped). Harry was another story. Until they figured out who was doing this, his oldest and dearest friend would down for the count. He was exhausted, irritated, furious, exasperated, sick, distressed and confused. He felt as if he were about to explode from all the emotions boiling within him.

He wanted to scream, but he felt as if it would take too much time.

He had never once in his life wanted to linger in a Floo Transport, but for some reason he wanted the soot and the tickling green flames to last a moment longer, to shroud him away from everything that was outside. From the pain of two of his closest friends having near death experiences on his watch, from the strain this whole thing was putting on him and Hermione, from the look in Ginny's eyes that was haunting him, and from the terrifying and frustrating feeling that he was missing something, something that was right in front of his face, taunting him.

But it didn't last. And far too soon for his liking, he found himself in the Hogwarts Library. He had started out in McGonagall's office who greeted him with a knowing "Mr. Weasley, she's in the library," and had drug his feet somewhat toward the library, looking out the window to see what teams were practicing on the pitch (he couldn't help but grin when he thought about it being named after him), and finally found himself in the Library.

Hermione was in a private room not far off the restricted section. When he opened the door, her back was to him and Ron could tell that she was reading. She had tons of books piled in front of her and at least fifty more on a table behind her. He cleared his throat, but he didn't speak. He watched her shoulders straighten, so he knew she knew he was there.

"Hermione?" he said as he came around to face her, reaching for the opposite chair and taking a seat.

She met his eyes briefly. "Neville?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Poison, but they had stabilized him. Kingsley sent me here. But we've got Lestrange and Yaxley."

Hermione smiled. "Another Order of Merlin for you."

Ron shrugged. "Have you got anything?" he asked nodding towards the books.

She shook her head, frustration apparent. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing. There's nothing on Viktor's grandmother that might shed any light—," she stopped when she noticed Ron's shoulders bristling.

She looked down at the book, _Cases of Wandlore Hysteria 800-1800,_ thinking of what to say.

"Ron, I...I'm sorry about earlier," she didn't look at him and he knew it was his turn to speak.

"For what, Hermione?" Ron queried in an overly casual tone. "What precisely are you apologizing for?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, could you not be so childish?"

"Me? I'm the one being _**childish?**_ Because I'm the one sneaking off and meeting with old flames—,"

"I'm trying to apologize to you," Hermione interrupted. "Do you have to make everything so bloody difficult?" her tone was as harsh his own. "And for God's sake, he is not an old flame! We were children!"

"He wasn't," said a Weasley unwilling to let anything go.

"God in heaven, Ronald! I'm trying to apologize to you. I should have told you. There, I said." Hermione's tone had softened towards the end, but she still wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Why didn't you?" he snapped, his tone harsh, mixed with the slightest edge of hurt.

She sighed. "I had orders from Kingsley to keep it confidential."

"Bullshit." Ron was clearly having one of that. "If it was supposed to be confidential the two of you wouldn't have been having a cozy little tete a tete in your office where everyone in the fucking Ministry could see you."

"Ronald, don't be so dramatic. I had to meet him and I wanted to do it with as little hysteria as possible."

"Me the being hysteria in this case?"

Hermione put her hand over her forehead and sighed. "I can't do this with you. You're unreasonable when you're like this."

Ron scoffed. "You mean when I'm right? Confidentiality had nothing to do with it."

"Did it ever occur to you that I didn't want to do this? Didn't want to argue with you about it?" Hermione asked, standing up to get another set of heavy books. "That I've got enough stress. We both do, and that I didn't want to fight with you about Viktor. Because you're so irrational and jealous about something that happened years ago," she wobbled slightly and Ron stood up, taking the books out of her hand and dropping them on the table.

"I'm jealous and irrational? I'm jealous and irrational because I don't fancy my wife keeping secrets from me, yeah? Oh, bloody monster, I am. You really think I would've given you hell about following an order from Kingsley? In the midst of all this, you think I've got time to give a damn about Viktor Krum?"

"Oh, so you're saying you would've been perfectly fine with it?" There wasn't a numerical figure high enough to calculate the skepticism that filled Hermione's tone.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell, no. But I would've shut up...eventually. There's too much at stake right now. Harry's life, now Neville's, our world in general. Do you really think it would've mattered? You know, I'm not seventeen anymore. Merlin's bollocks, it's almost as if you want me to get mad and end up fucking you on the floor in some type of jealous haze."

Hermione colored at his words and didn't reply. Ron hadn't been serious, saying the first thing that came to his head. The aura of the electricity in the room changed as Ron eyed his wife curiously. She still hadn't spoken. His words had struck her. Had that been what she'd wanted? Had she known that in the back of her mind?

Ron was certainly about to find out. "Is that what you wanted, Hermione?" he asked as walked toward her, slowly.

She found herself backed into the bookshelf and her breath quickened. She couldn't stop herself from inhaling his scent, salt and mint and cinnamon. He tipped her chin so their eyes met, while his other hand slipped teasingly under her skirt and inched its way between her thighs to finger her knickers, his eyes widening as he did.

"You're fucking soaked," he whispered as his index finger rubbed along her folds gently, his eyes never leaving hers.

And very little preamble, his lips crashed against hers. A gasp caught in her throat as his lips covered hers, unleashing a fire in her that only he could. She felt he knees weaken slightly as her center jolted with desire and need. She needed him more than she could articulate, longed for him more than she would ever admit.

Ron was quickly losing himself in the feel of her lips pressed against his, but it simply wasn't enough. So he cupped her arse and picked her, quickly carrying he to the other side of the room and depositing her onto the table. In a flash, he was on her again, their lips tangling with one another, his hands puling her blouse apart and running his hands over her breasts through her bra.

She moaned gently, as he squeezed and kneaded her breasts, pulling her bra down, thumbs lazily circling her nipples until they hardened into pebble peaks, as he turned to flicking them gently with his ring finger. Finally, he pulled his lips away from hers, both of them flushed and panting.

"You want this, don't you?" said Ron as he kissed the shell of her ear. "You want me possessive? It turns you on. You're mine and you like to be reminded."

Hermione didn't deny it, she could barely speak as Ron kissed her neck and then worked his way between her breasts.

"This is mine," he said, lips descending on her left breast, sucking on the supple flesh, lightly running his teeth over her nipple, causing her to arch off the table and moan. Ron smiled inwardly as he continued to lavish her breast and listened to her moan and keen. He wanted her to moan and yell his name.

"And this is mine," he said as he turned his lips to her right breast. Hermione shuddered under his caress and one fingers wove through his hair as he felt herself growing wetter and wetter, heading towards the edge.

He moved away from her breasts and she sighed, immediately missing his touch. But she didn't miss it for long as she kissed along the flat, smooth plane of her stomach, swirling his tongue gently in her navel.

"Ron," was all Hermione could say as she lost herself in the pleasure of her husband's touch. She was on fire for him, every nerve ending felt electrified, every touch had a surge of lust boiling within her.

Ron abruptly pulled away and Hermione groaned, her frustration growing. Ron couldn't help but smile at the act that he could so easily wind her up.

He propped himself up on the table, and lifted her legs, placing her ankles around his head, before removing her shoes. He met her eyes and smiled a devilish grin as he took his time removing her stockings and her knickers, the heady scent of her center filling the room. Her legs parted as he descended upon her with a twinkle in his eye.

"And this, of course," he said as he wrapped around two fingers around her clit. "Is mine." His lips descended on her center and Hermione felt a dizzying, white heat course through as she came instantly.

Ron didn't let up, his tongue entered her center slowly, savoring her sweetness, and then jut as slowly pulling back out to just to repeat the process causing a shudder and a groan from Hermione.

And all of a sudden, he stopped. Hermione let out a gasp in frustration and surprise.

Before she could react, she felt the tip of Ron's cock against her clit, making her whimper and shake. She didn't remember him undressing, but at that point, she couldn't have given a flying fuck. She wanted her husband to fuck her. She needed him to fuck her.

And he had never been one to disappoint her. He lined himself up and quickly plunged into her, burying himself to the hilt, nearly making her come on contact. He drew out slowly, saving every inch, as he reached up to kiss her roughly, sinking their lips together as he slowly dove back in, taking her long and slow, not wanting it to end.

Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. "Fuck me, Ronald."

Well, Ron was only too happy to oblige. He dove in again, harder and harder each time, losing himself in every moan and grunt and shudder his wife. This was the closest to heaven he would ever get, he knew. His cock throbbing inside her pulsing heat, her breasts pressed against his chest, her lips playing over his, when they were moaning his name.

The concoction was a potent one and he felt himself racing toward the edge. Wanting to finish her off, Ron quickly flicked her clit twice with his thumb. Hermione's locked place around his waist and her core wrapped around Ron's cock, and she yelled his name, rushing on the edge, forcing his own orgasm, milking his cock as he emptied inside her.

They collapsed on the desk in a mad heap, the smell of salt and skin and sweat mixing with they smell of aged books and yellowed paper, both too spent and content to separate.

Sometimes fighting was fun.

 _~Vicit et Validum~_

Bathing in the afterglow and the dying candelight, Hermione realized that she'd just had one of her (many) fantasies fulfilled. Her and Ron in the Hogwarts library. She couldn't have thought of a better way to make up. she was also happy that there'd been a silencing charm on the private room. For all she knew, there could've been first years right outside the door. She laughed inwardly at the thought.

Then she realized how quiet he'd been.

"You know," she said, testing the waters, as she turned to wrap herself in his arms, gently laying her head on his chest. "You don't have to worry about Viktor. You never did. It's always been you. Even back then, it was you."

Ron didn't reply. He just ran circles along the small of her back and sighed deeply. The whole day had been too fucking much for him.

He lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. "This whole thing is ridiculous. It feels like the War all over again. We're gonna jump from switching to Horcruxes to Hallows in a bit, if we're not careful."

A very large lightbulb went off in Hermione's head. "Hallows? The Hallows. Ron, that's it. You're brilliant. I can't believe I didn't realize it before."

In a flash, she was off of the table and Summoning her clothes.

She was dressed and ready before Ron had even sat up. "'Mione, what are you on about?" he asked.

"Get dressed, Ron. We have to go. We have to go to Dumbledore's grave."

"What? Why?"

"The wand. The Elder Wand."

"What about it?" Ron was thoroughly confused.

"Ron, think about it. Voldemort wanted the Wand. He wanted to master the wand. If whoever's doing this is being controlled by Voldemort—, "They'd want the wand too," Ron finished for her. "That's why they went for Harry."

"What," Hermione asked as she was clearly skimming through the books to find something, anything about the Elder Wand

It was all making sense now. Ron remembered something Ollivander had said about the Elder Wand all those years ago at Shell Cottage, about not needing to kill the master of the Elder Wand, but needing to be stronger.

"They wanted Harry to take that curse so he'd be weak, so he wouldn't be the Master of the Wand anymore."

Hermione's eyes widened in horror. "We've got to go."

Ron didn't argue, he just quickly found his clothes and put himself togeth as fast as he could. Within two minutes they were Apparating to the small island on the Irish Coast where Dumbledore was buried.

At first, Ron wasn't worried. There were Aurors at Dumbledore's grave at all times. They wouldn't leave their post, that much he knew.

He voiced his opinion to Hermione, who didn't seem convinced.

"Ron, whoever's doing this, I don't think a couple Aurors would've stopped them," she said darkly.

Ron flashed his badge and the Aurors stepped aside to let them examine the tomb. It seemed untouched, at peace. Disturbing it felt wrong. But it had to be done.

Hermione grabbed her wand and carefully removed the stone top of the good Headmaster's grave.

Nearly six years after his death, he had turned to bone. But the wand was still there, clutched tightly in his hand where Harry had placed it.

Hermione was ready to breathe a sigh of relief. Ron, on the other hand, wasn't. Growing up in a family full of wizards and having two brothers like Fred and George, he knew a fake wand when he saw one.

He used his wand to remove what he hoped was the Elder Wand. But the second his fingers gripped it, his worst fear was confirmed. It was a fake.

"Bloody fucking hell."

The Elder Wand was gone.

 _ **Words cannot express how sorry I am that this was so delayed. But here it is at last and I'm starting the next bit right this second so it won't be that delayed ever again. Please enjoy and read and review**_

 _ **Xoxo-Kay.**_


	7. Chapter 7: Pieces, Not The Puzzle

_**This chapter is dedicated to ObsessedwithRomione, who's support of this story from the beginning lit a fire under me to finish this update which I had been struggling with for weeks. Seventh Son should be updated by the weekend. All the Gobblygook translations are completely my own. Please read and review. :)**_

 **Pieces, Not The Puzzle**

Bill Weasley was dying to get out of the house. His wife, mother, sister and sister-in-laws (minus Hermione) and all the nieces and nephews had all converged on the place to cook a large Sunday dinner...on Wednesday.

He correctly guessed that it was a ruse to distract Ginny, who had been chained to Harry's hospital bed for what Molly had determined too long. So they were all there, cooking up a feast, or at least what should've been a feast for how long they had been there.

Ginny was quiet, and Bill could tell that she was doing her best to act engaged, but her head and her heart were clearly back at St. Mungo's. He didn't blame her. If Fleur had been laid up, there would've been no magic that could've kept him away.

He knew there was nothing Ginny could do for Harry, and Gryffindors hated doing nothing. They weren't wired to sit and wait. Of course, somehow all of his brothers had managed to get out of this particular event. Charlie had been recalled to Romania, something about baby Horntails being on the loose. Fred had a business trip in New York. He'd almost cancelled, but Ginny insisted on his going, arguing somebody should have some normalcy. Percy had "Ministry Matters to attend to" and as for Ron, well, Ron was in the thick of whatever was going on. He'd seen his brother twice and never more for than a few minutes since it had all started.

He hadn't had any updates, Ron wasn't returning any messages. Bill really didn't' expect him to, but it would have been nice to know that his youngest brother wasn't lying somewhere with a Dark Mark burned into his forehead.

Bill had honestly hoped to be done with Dark Marks and anything Voldemort related. He remembered the First War better than any of his siblings. He remembered the tears in his mother's eyes when Mad-Eye informed her and his grandparents that Gideon and Fabian wouldn't be coming home.

He remembered the funerals, the Dark Marks being burned into the sky and then it was over, like a firework that had burned hot and disappeared into nothing. Of course, the real fireworks began later.

He remembered the parties in the street, the celebrations and the feeling that things were going to be all right again.

He also remembered the conversations that no one thought he overheard or understood, the whispers that maybe He Who Must Not Be Named wasn't as dead as he seemed, the embers of a fire threatening to spark again.

It was the whispers that had hung over his entire adolescence. But then again, he had to admit he'd gotten off easy. When he thought of everything Ron had gone through from his first year at Hogwarts to his current situation, that kid had been through more hell than any of them combined.

He wished there was something he could do to help, something more than decipher curses after the fact.

He didn't like feeling useless any more than Ginny did. But just then being surrounded by all his female relatives and a plethora of toddlers, he felt about as useful as a Blast-Ended Skrewt playing Seeker.

Hopeless as the rest of his brothers in the kitchen, he'd been designated to make sure the children didn't kill each other.

Molly, always very intuitive to Bill, could tell that he was restless. And an idea struck her. Later on, no one could say whether it was coincidence, inspired or fate.

She pulled him aside, and as she couldn't help herself she brushed a long lock out of his hair out of his face. "Bill, we both know there's nothing you can do around her. Cooking has never been your bag even with magic."

Bill smiled at his mother, more so for her benefit than his own amusement. "True," he conceded.

"I've been meaning to ask you something. When I went to Gringotts, I couldn't get the keys to Rubrum or to Mallory House. The goblins said that I was given everything allotted to me. I'm not sure if it's an issue with the ward or, well I don't know. But I was hoping you could look into it."

Bill smiled, happy to have an excuse to get away. "I'll get right on it, Mum," he said, trying and failing to hide his eagerness at the thought of leaving.

With a kiss to his mother and Fleur and a lingering hug for Ginny, he Apparated to Gringott's. The place had been busier than normal. Lots of wizards and witches pulling money from their accounts and going on extended holidays. Bill couldn't fault them. He had a family he wanted to protect.

At the same time, the last thing he wanted was to teach his children was that when things got rough, the right thing to do was to get somewhere and hide. He laughed silently as his own contradictions. He made his way through the larger than average crowd, smiling at people he knew until he was finally at the Vault of Records.

Being a Curse-Breaker, he didn't have much to do with that department unless a magical family was claiming that recently found and un-cursed treasure belonged to them. He had access to the Vault but he had never had a cause to enter it.

The goblins took extra precautions to guard their secrets. All the records were written in Gobblygook. No one but the goblins and the people who the records belonged to could access them. Even Ministry Officials had to get special permission and wards had to be removed.

But Bill was a Prewett, so technically he wasn't breaking any rules by accessing the records, though the goblins probably would've had a bone to pick with him if they knew he was going into the area without their permission.

He entered the vault and his eyes widened. The vault extended endlessly in all directions. Every magical family that had ever existed in the British Isles probably had records there.

He stood at the front of the vault, awestruck for a few moments before remembering he had a job to do. And for that job, there was only one solution.

Magic.

" _Accio_ Prewett records," he whispered. He heard a soft rustling that sounded like the roar of a Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match in the deserted room. After a few moments, a massive, weathered leather-bound rectangular book started coming directly towards him. It seemed that goblins still hadn't developed wards that could completely throw off wand magic.

" _Arresto momentum_ ," he whispered before the book flattened him. It was the largest book he'd ever encountered. Not to mention the oldest, some of the dust on it probably went back to the days of Merlin.

He conjured up a small table and carefully took hold of the book, holding it carefully, not wanting to damage it. Even though there was special charms placed on the books to keep them from damage, Bill didn't want to risk it. Something instinctive had taken over, something he couldn't quite name.

His eyes fell to the seal of the House of Prewett red and gold, like most Ancient and Noble Houses with Gryffindor lineages and a white jaguar with the words _vicit et valium_ emblazoned across the bottom.

"Victorious are the valiant," Bill couldn't stop himself from saying aloud. He smiled but then a shadow crossed his features. He realized this record was complete. There would never be any more additions to it. The House of Prewett was extinct, snuffed out like a candle in a strong burst of wind.

If he'd had the time, he would have loved to read the whole thing, even it was as almost as old as Gringotts itself. But Bill knew better than most that time was the one thing you never had.

He found the last page of the records. It was a very short page, the goblins' nonsensical alphabet and markings telling an indecipherable tale that he knew by heart.

His grasp of the difficult language was minimal at best. But what he could make out were the dates. Bill remembered that Gobblygook did not have words for the months of the year, and therefore it was all done numerically.

There had been a steady log kept throughout the eighties. One of the notes appeared to be dated April 11, 1981. It took Bill no time to remember that that was right before his grandparents went into hiding. He remembered everything about the war. He peered closer at the record, hoping to decipher a clue.

He saw the word ghyzed which he knew was Gobblygook for "ward" and ljekep which he knew translated to "heir" and figured that this was the log for the ward that had been placed over the Prewett properties by his uncle. Bill fought back a tear and pressed on. To his surprise that was not the last record written.

There were several dated just after the war and all with the same three words _qtghad bzelct ldjave._

Bill wracked his brain, knowing he had heard the expression before. He tried to think of when and where.

Then it came to him, it had been an expedition in Thebes where a tomb filled with treasure had been discovered that supposedly belonged to the Caleks, a very old Egyptian family of wizards. But none of them were able to access it. Roughly speaking " _qtghad bzelct ldjave"_ translated into "access attempt unsuccessful". Bill gathered that this was when his grandparents were trying to access the vault after his uncles died.

There had only been three attempts, Bill knew. His grandparents were far too grief stricken to worry about it. They had enough gold on hand to get by and had simply let the matter drop. After all, it only reminded them that their sons were not coming home. Bill remembered life before that. He couldn't help but remember the way it had changed after that.

From his grandfather's laugh to his mother's smile, everything after had been less. He cleared his throat and told himself to press on. He glanced down at the paper one last time, but he paused. He hadn't realized that his hand had been covering an entry.

For a moment he was certain he'd read the date wrong. He blinked, looked at it again, blinked again and stared. It couldn't be right. It was dated the fifth of May 2003. Bill read the entry which read _qtghad gjelda; Rubrum ipmae ljekep Prewett ik Prewett._

"The fuck?" he whispered. If he was reading it right it said something along the lines of "access granted, Rubrum key given to the Prewett of Prewett."

Bill didn't know what to think. The last Prewett of Prewett had been his grandfather, who had been dead since 1989. The heirs to the title had been dead for eight years before that.

Were the goblins running some sort of scam? Had they been holding his family's property hostage this whole time? Was that why they refused to give Molly the key to Rubrum. But if they had been holding the Prewett fortune all this time, why had they hadn't held onto the entire thing?

He wouldn't put much past goblins, if he was honest, but it didn't add up. They valued treasure even more so than they did magic. They would not part with a single Knut without an outright vicious brawl, let alone the money that his family had received.

Something was clearly amiss. Bill knew all too well that the goblins would answer no questions. But perhaps they had figured out how to break the wards surrounding Rubrum and were using it for some shady business dealings?

That was his mother's house. It was the seat of an ancient and storied Wizard family. He set his jaw in a firm line. They wouldn't get away with it. Not on his watch.

He returned the ancient book back to its place, his mind flooding with memories of his uncles and the mansion that he'd once been free to roam. If the goblins had decided to commandeer it for some heinous reasons of their own, then damn his career, he wouldn't rest until he'd brought them to justice.

He took greater care exiting the building as the crowds had largely dissipated, but as soon as he was in the middle of Diagon Alley, he Apparated to Rubrum.

The sun was still setting in the background, lighting up the outer grounds behind the house with a dark red hue. Bill hadn't been there since he was a boy. It had lain lifeless and desolate for so long, without the joy and laughter that had once been its hallmark.

He stepped to the gate, its bronzed legs covered in two decades worth of moss and to his surprise, they opened.

He glanced around, a feeling of unease settling over him. Those gates were not supposed to open to anyone, not anymore.

And then from the eastern window, a light came on. Bill's eyes turned to the window in time to see a figure moving out of the window. It happened so fast, he could not tell if it was a goblin or anything else for that matter.

Filled with all the Gryffindor courage that both his lineages imbibed in him, he raced to the door, about to fling a _bombarda_ through it when to his shock, it opened.

 _Vicit et Validum_

Somber didn't even begin to describe the mood in Kingsley's office. No one had even uttered a word since Ron had revealed that Dumbledore's tomb had been robbed. The Aurors on duty didn't remember a thing and everyone surmised that they had been Confunded.

The Elder Wand, The Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick was gone, missing and most likely in the hands of this mystery lieutenant Voldemort had left behind. Nothing made sense. Nothing was going to make sense.

Ron realized he was still holding Hermione's hand. He knew he should've let it go, but he couldn't bring himself to. He felt like he was watching his whole life from the outside. He heard himself telling Kingsley what had happened, but he wasn't conscious of it. He heard Kingsley ask for an update on the interrogation of Yaxley and Lestrange.

"Are they talking?" he asked.

"Silent as stone," sighed the disturbed Minister. "We're thinking of using Veritaserum."

"Don't think. Do it," Ron said. "We've wasted enough time playing this game. We need answers. I'll take a crack at them."

"Ron, I think you may be too involved," Kingsley said with a sigh.

"Fucking hell, Kingsley, at this point, aren't we all?"

"Something doesn't make sense," Hermione said, speaking for what seemed the first time in an eternity.

Ron scoffed. "Understatement of the millennium, 'Mione."

"I'm trying to think, Ronald. Why would they go after Luna and Rolf? Why? I mean Luna was in the Order, but this isn't about any of that. Not really."

Hermione was on to something. Ron thought for a moment, feeling around in his brain for a locked door he barely remembered.

Then it hit him. He thought back to his conversation with Neville, a conversation that had only happened a few hours earlier, but seemed two lifetimes away.

"Because they would know," he said softly, his voice a hair above a whisper.

Hermione turned to look at him. "What?"

"Because they would know. If something strange was going on, they would know. They'd be able to sense it. You know they have a way of knowing whenever something terrible is about to happen. During the War, they went after Luna before because of what Xeno was saying. Whoever's doing this wanted to make sure that they would never get a chance. That's why they went after them."

"But not Xeno?" Hermione was clearly perplexed.

Ron shrugged darkly. "Merlin knows how long those two fuckers had been Polyjucying as Luna and Rolf. They've probably got Xeno under a bloody Imperius."

Hermione fought back tears. She had missing friends, injured friends, dead friends. They'd been going in circles for too long, they'd lost too much. But there was no time to cry.

Her eyes met her husband's. Their thoughts hadn't been more in sync since the day they got married. It wasn't time to decipher prophecies, or search for clues. It was time to fight.

"Kingsley," Ron said turning to his boss. "You've got to let me go down there. I can't just stand here. I've got to do something. If Luna and Rolf are all right, they won't be for long."

Kingsley took a breath. He seemed to weigh his options before speaking. "All right. But the second you lose your cool, Auror Weasley, I'm pulling you out. Are we clear?"

"As a penseieve," Ron said, already halfway out the door. He had no time to waste.

Interrogations weren't his favorite thing. He didn't like spending time with Dark Wizards or their twisted followers. He certainly didn't like listening to their long, nauseating speeches about their sinister plots and even more sinister brains. The whole thing drained him more than three hours of Quidditch in an August afternoon.

But if it meant helping Harry, if it meant finding Rolf and Luna, if it meant putting an end to it, he would gladly listen. He reached for his Veritaserum, ready to shove it down their miserable throats. Legillmency was banned for use in official Auror interrogations or he would've attempted it.

When he reached Lestrange's holding cell, he felt a rush of adrenaline building in his veins. He felt like he was closer, like he was nearer to ending this. He thought of the moment when he dropped a stone statute on Greyback's head. This felt like that.

Something told him that he was close, but he had been wrong before.

He had no time to be wrong.

The door opened and he dismissed the young Auror who was guarding Lestrange, who was tied to a chair, with his mouth magically sealed. Ron turned red at the sight of him, fuming with coiled rage. The Auror office had been searching for him for the past five years. His capture should've been a reason to celebrate. Instead, it was a reason to take up arms, to find and fight whoever had brought him out of the shadowy corners he'd been hiding in. Ron took a moment to size him up, fighting every urge in his body not to choke him out.

Ron hated him and he hated himself for hating anyone even if they were a murderous Death Eater. But hating him wasn't going to get him any closer to the truth. Unfortunately, only Lestrange himself could do that.

Rabastan Lestrange hadn't aged much from his years in the war. The evil in his veins apparently came with fountain of youth properties. He had no frown lines, no deep creases, as if he had never known stress. Even years in Azkaban seemed to leave no physical mark on him. Dementors could only do so much damage on the already demented, it seemed.

He seemed calm, nonchalant. It was not his first interrogation by Aurors. Perhaps he thought of it as nothing more than an annoying formality, a small price to pay for the cause.

Ron knew Lestrange thought of him as a blood traitor. He was dealing with a Death Eater through and through. Someone loyal to Voldemort and all the glory he had promised them, a hater of muggles and muggle-borns, someone willing to die just to say that he'd kept magic away from people he thought of as unworthy.

Ron might not have hated him so much if he didn't remember that they were related, that the same blood, the blood of Old Magic ran through their veins. That if it weren't for his parents, that if it weren't for his entire family being decent and honorable, being fucking Gryffindors, he could've been just the same.

Choking back the bile and anger in his throat, Ron tried to harness his fury. He had had a job to do.

He conjured up a chair. There was a part of him that wanted to do this old school and pound the answers out of Lestrange's face. But he knew he didn't have time.

" _Aperi_ ," he said aiming his wand at Lestrange's mouth. The former Death Eater's mouth dropped open and Ron quickly poured three drops of Veritaserum down his throat. He poured three more remembering that all the Lestranges had been trained to resist the potion. He sat back down and waited for a moment for the potion to take effect. And if it didn't, Ron still had his fists.

When Lestrange stopped jerking around, Ron cleared his throat. He set his jaw in a very firm line and faced Rabastan Lestrange. This man had tortured Neville's parents, killed countless innocent people and had eluded capture for years. Now Ron had him in his clutches, but he couldn't lock him away, not yet. Especially because there was one thing he needed to know before anything else.

"Where are Rolf and Luna?" Ron asked coolly, restraining himself as best he could. He felt his heart racing as he watched Lestrange struggle to keep his mouth shut.

"Where are they?" Ron demanded as he fought to stay in his seat and keep his hands from Lestrange's neck. "Tell me. Now."

Rabastan did not yield easily, that much was certain. The words came out harsh and choked as if someone was literally grabbing them from his throat.

"They're in the dungeon of my house," came his glassy-eyed, broken reply. Snape's favorite potion had taken effect. Lestrange, with all his loyalty and devotion to his dark cause, was no match for it.

Ron wasted no time dispatching a missive to Kingsley to send Aurors to the Lestrange mansion.

"Who are you working for?" Ron asked, turning to face Lestrange.

"The Dark Lord."

"Voldemort is dead. Who are you working for?"

"The Dark Lord," Lestrange repeated.

"Try again. Who are you working for?

"The Dark Lord's servant."

Ron sat up straight. "Who is the Dark Lord's servant?" He cringed as the words left his lips. It went against everything he believed in, everything _**he**_ _**was**_ to use the Death Eater's term of veneration.

"The Dark Lord's servant."

"What is his name?" Ron tried again. He aimed his wand at Lestrange's heart. "Now."

"I do not know his name."

"What is his name?"

"I do not know his name."

"Fuck." Ron looked at Lestrange's face and realized he was telling the truth.

Lestrange was so demented, so blinded to the cause of pureblood supremacy that he would willingly follow someone who claimed to be Voldemort's servant, even if he didn't know who it was. It baffled and outraged him almost as much as it terrified him. Blindly loyal with nothing to lose, there was really nothing these people wouldn't do.

Ron didn't even want to bother with Yaxley. If Lestrange knew nothing, Yaxley knew less. He was a stooge, always had been. He thought for a minute, trying to figure out what else he might be able to get out of him.

"Where is the Dark Lord's servant?"

"In his home."

"The Riddle House was destroyed."

"The servant is his own home."

"Where is that?"

"I do not know. The servant sends a portkey when he wants us. We don't know where we are."

Ron sighed, ready to punch the ceiling. This was getting nowhere. Every rock he uncovered only led to a million more. All he had was a piece, not the puzzle. His attention was called away briefly.

He whirled around to see an all too familiar sight. Lestrange was wrestling on the floor, seizing, foaming at the mouth, clearly in distress.

Ron leapt to the ground beside him, trying to steady his movements.

"Help! Help, get someone in here now!" he yelled as he tried to steady Lestrange's head.

He didn't have a bezoar, he had used it on Neville. As much as he didn't want to save him, he didn't want to lose him either. Lestrange was one half of the only lead he had, he couldn't die. "Help, fucking somebody help!" he screamed again.

Within seconds, three Auors and a Mediwizard rushed in. Lestrange was already turning purple. "Save him! Save him, whatever you have to do," Ron screeched at the Mediwizard.

The Aurors rushed Lestrange out of the room and Ron felt his heart sinking. What kind of world was he living when he was begging for a Death Eater's life to be saved?

But he had no time to wallow. He had to figure out who this servant was. Bellatrix had bit the dust, courtesy of one Molly Weasley. Who else would the sick fucker have trusted?

Minutes later, Ron was trying to pull himself together, so he could gear up to have a go at Yaxley, when Kingsley entered the room. He looked the grimmest Ron had seen him over the past few days and that was certainly saying something.

"Lestrange was poisoned with essence of mermaids' tears," Kingsley said with a sigh. "He's dead. Nothing the healers could do."

Confusion clouded Ron's features. "Essence of mermaids' tears isn't poisonous."

"It is when it's mixed with Veritaserum. He probably didn't even know he had it in his system. Whoever's behind this has probably been dosing him with it in case he was caught. To ensure his silence." Kingsley's voice was laced with disgust and a tinge of fear. Their opponent wasn't above killing his own soldiers.

Ron leaned against the table, his legs suddenly feeling wobbly. Whoever this was, they had thought of it all, they'd mapped out every piece on the board. And he didn't know which game they were playing anymore.

"Did you get anything out of him?" Kingsley asked, the despondency evident in his voice. He sat down beside him and Ron shrugged dismissively, not wanting to think about the past fifteen minutes.

"He's working for the Dark Lord's Servant, that's all I know. And he doesn't...didn't know who that was. Rolf? Luna?" he suddenly remembered.

Kinglsey's mouth turned up into the smallest of smiles. "I got a report from the Aurors in the field. They are unhurt for the most part. Missing locks of hair mainly. We're bringing them here immediately."

Ron wanted to feel more relief than he did. He was chuffed that Rolf and Luna were safe. But he couldn't bring himself to feel anything besides rage and frustration. He forced a smile.

"That's good news. We could use more of it." He felt like an absolute knob, he loved Luna and Rolf dearly, but their being safe was only temporary, everyone's safety was only temporary. If they didn't stop this, no one would be safe again.

"That we could," Kingsley agreed. Ron felt as if he was searching for something to say. As the Minister, it was Kingsley's job to reassure and shore up the community in trying times. Kingsley, however, didn't seem to have the words then and there, which was fine with Ron.

As far as he was concerned, there were none that could be said.

"Fancy a go at Yaxley?" Kingsley asked after several still moments. "He's no Death Eater, you might be able to crack him."

"Do you think whoever's doing this stupid enough to give _**fucking Yaxley**_ information? "

"No stone unturned, Ronald."

"Constant vigilance, sir," Ron replied with a weak smile. A genuine smile had been hard for him to crack lately.

Kingsley studied the young Auror for a moment. "Take a breath, Ron," he told him.

Ron eyed his boss curiously. It was honestly the last thing he'd expected from the Minister.

"You've been running since this began," Kingsley pressed on. "Keep at it like this and you'll find yourself in a hole no magic can pull you out of."

Ron sighed. "Kingsley, I doubt that whoever the hell is doing this is taking breathers. I can rest when this is over."

Kingsley exhaled a soft, dry chuckle. "That's exactly what I expected you to say. You Weasleys are a damn stubborn bunch."

Ron laughed. "That we are. But I would not have it any other way."

"Neither would I. Take a moment, then. Gather your thoughts. I'll have one of the interns bring Yaxley in about fifteen minutes."

Ron nodded and Kingsley left the room. Ron noticed that even his normal walking gait had increased, like he had no time even to walk normally.

Maybe he didn't, Ron thought darkly. Ron looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes seemed an instant and an eternity. He realized he didn't even know where to start. The pieces of the puzzle that he had didn't seem to belong to each other at all.

He was missing something. Yaxley wouldn't be very helpful, he knew, but the times were well past desperate.

"Constant vigilance," he whispered to himself as he tried to put on his game face, determined not to let the events of the last few days shake his resolve. He had to figure it out, he couldn't stop until he did.

He only hoped that he was heading even remotely in the right direction.

Meanwhile, Hermione, unable to sit still, had asked for permission to examine the personal effects that were found with Yaxley and Lestrange. She didn't know what to expect, she just knew she couldn't wait around to hear about an interrogation she wasn't allowed to be a part of.

She was given a separate room where their wands and personal items had been laid out for her. Part of her didn't want to go near their wands, especially Lestrange's. She couldn't imagine (and didn't particularly want to) what horrors that twisted, gnarled piece of wood had caused.

There were at least three vials of Polyjuice potion, two bottles of Dreamless Sleep, several empty potion vials, a ring that bore the Dark Mark, and a black weathered, leather-bound book.

Something about it looked familiar, like she'd seen it before. The book had been placed on its back and she turned it over. The markings on it were faded, but she thought she could make out some sort of bird and what appeared to be a large cat, a cheetah perhaps. Something was telling her she'd seen it before. She couldn't place it, and it didn't make sense. Why would she have seen a book belonging to a Death Eater?

She couldn't tell if she was acting in harmony or against her better judgment when she opened it. Her heart sank when it became apparent the pages were completely blank. Her mind immediately went to Tom Riddle's diary. Better not to fool with that, she reasoned very quickly and put it aside.

Then again, she paused. Lestrange was dead now. If his memories were contained in that book, they could be very useful. Before she could examine the rest of the items, a memo came through: Rolf and Luna were at the Ministry. She leaped up from her chair, eager to see her friends. She was going to give Luna the biggest hug of her life. As she exited, she couldn't say why, but she took the book wit her. For some reason, she didn't want it out of her sight.

When she reached the room where Luna and Rolf were being examined, she paused. Something about the thought of seeing Luna injured and newly escaped from Death Eaters brought back memories she did her best to keep buried.

She couldn't let her mind go there, not back to Malfoy Manor, not to the screeching and soulless tones of Bellatrix's voice, not to the stabbing, relentless pain of the Cruciatius Curse pounding through her whole body.

The only part she ever let herself even think about for a moment was how she survived, how she put Bellatrix's threats, her voice, her wand, her knife and her curse all out of her mind.

His voice, screaming with rage and aching with concern as he called her name. She had focused on that, his voice, her name. There was nothing else, nothing else at all. She had focused on nothing but Ron's voice and she'd survived the worst experience of her life.

If she tried hard enough she could almost hear him calling her that moment.

"'Mione. 'Mione. Hermione."

She looked up and right into her favorite pair of eyes, which were now clouded with concern. She colored slightly when she realized he had been calling her name. He was standing right beside her. He was always there beside her.

HIs concern was evident. "You all right, love?"

She nodded. "I just...I just don't want to see Luna like that."

His eyes filled with understanding at her words. He knew what she meant.

He took her hand in his and squeezed it lightly. "She's alive, that's what matters. For everything else, there's a cure. "

She smiled up at him. "You're right. You're always right."

His eyes widened and a roguish grin crossed his features. "What did you just say? Who are you and what did you do with Hermione Granger? You're an impostor, you are."

Hermione smiled despite herself. "Shut up, before I take it back."

"Can't take it back, it's already out there."

She rolled her eyes as he gently kissed her forehead.

"Let's go in yeah," he said with a smile. "We can't avoid it forever."

"Yeah," she said, intertwining his fingers wit hers. "Wait, did you get anything from Yaxley?"

"Haven't had a chance yet. Wanted to see Rolf and Luna first."

Hermione nodded, she'd dropped everything when she heard they were at the Ministry. In times like these, every second one could get with their loved ones was absolutely priceless.

Whatever was behind the door and whatever Rolf and Luna had to say, Hermione couldn't avoid it. She didn't want to. She squared her shoulders and braced herself to see her friends. Bad memories be damned. There were worse things to be than a survivor.

Stepping into the room, relief filled Hermione when she saw that Rolf and Luna looked rather unscathed. Physically, anyway.

"Hello, Hermione. Hello, Ron," Luna said her in usual airy voice. That one single sound caused a waterfall of relief to flood through her veins. She took a long look at them. They looked tired, and she could see bruises on their wrists. Luna's hair, instead of its usual light blond, looked ashen. Bu her eyes looked bright and she had a smile, though it was nowhere as large as it normally was.

Rolf looked wearier than she'd ever seen him and she'd seen him wrestle a Blast-Ended Skrewt. But other than a nasty bruise under his right eye, he seemed all right.

They looked nowhere near their best, but they were breathing.

"Bloody hell, you guys look like shite," this from a ginger who always had a certain way with words.

Hermione shot Ron a glare, but he didn't meet her eyes once. He was too busy grabbing Rolf by the shoulders and embracing him fondly.

"You all right? Are you hurt? Do we need Healers?" Ron gave Rolf and Luna a firm hug and a once-over, trying to make sure there wasn't any damage done. On the outside at least.

"Rolf, that's a nice shiner you've got," Ron said taking out his wand. "But I've seen enough bruises in my life. _Sanas pellius_ ," he gave his wand a quick wave and watched Rolf's black eye disappear. If only every scar was so easy.

"Thanks, mate," Rolf with a smile. Ron and Hermione settled into chairs across from them.

For a moment everyone was silent, Hermione conjured up tea tray and busied herself pouring everyone's cup.

Everyone stirred and sipped and stirred and sipped again. Luna put her cup down slowly. She met her friends' eyes and took a breath.

"You want to know what happened, but you don't want to ask." She wasn't asking a question. Luna never asked questions, she already seemed to know. Hermione was relieved that that hadn't seemed to change.

Ron put down his teacup. "We _**have**_ to ask, we _**have**_ to know what happened."

Rolf placed an around Luna's shoulder. "It was last month," he said as if he wasn't quite sure of dates anymore. Hermione didn't blame him. She'd been feeling the same way since this whole thing started.

"We were making unicorn and veela hair bracelets for the Boggarts," Luna chimed in, her eyes far away as if she was watching the scene from a giant television inside her mind. "It keeps them in good spirits."

"We heard a bang from outside," Rolf added quickly. "We thought it was the nifflers getting lose. Those buggers are damn impossible to catch one you lose them, so we both hurried out. But it was just Xeno. Or at least we thought it was Xeno."

"Rolf thought it was Dad, but I knew something was wrong. I've known something was wrong for a while. That's why I've been using my mother's Occlumency spell, to see if I could figure it out."

Hermione raised an eyebrow "Your mother's spell? Is it different from...regular Occulmency?"

"Oh yes, it allows you to enter the minds of all the wizards around you. I've been using it ever since I got the feeling that something was not quite right. All the wrackspurts were disappearing and they don't do that unless there are tons of wizards whose ears they'd rather not enter about. I knew something was wrong."

"Luna dear," Rolf said. "Perhaps we should stay on subject."

"Of course, Rolf dear. Well, I knew it wasn't my father and whoever it was must've known that because before we could move, we were Stupefied. They took us somewhere dark and gray."

Ron nodded. "The Lestrange Mansion."

Rolf shook his head. "No, they moved us there later. But where we were at first, there was a window, I could see a cemetery and a large oak tree."

"Was anyone else with you? Ollivander?"

Rolf shook his head. "No, it was only us. Everyday a very old house-elf would come with porridge and take a lock of our hair. We were tied up and without our wands so there wasn't much we could do. I figured they were using it for Polyjuice."

Ron nodded. "They were. They used it to set a trap for Harry."

"For Harry?" the little color that had returned to Luna's face drained in an instant. "Is Harry all right?"

Ron cursed himself. He hadn't meant to say that. His friends had just been through hell. They didn't need to feel worse. "He's on the mend. Is there anything you can tell us, about where you were, anything you remember?"

Rolf shook his head. "They gave us Dreamless Sleep. We were out of it most of the time."

"There were Ps on the bricks," Luna said suddenly.

 _Bloody hell, she's still Loony,_ Ron thought. His face must've shown his thoughts because Hermione elbowed him.

"Ps, Luna? Like the letter?" Hermione asked slowly.

Luna nodded. "I remember, in every corner of every brick there was a P inside an upside-down triangle. It was chiseled into all of them."

This time, Ron and Hermione couldn't help themselves from exchanging a glance. They looked over at Rolf for confirmation, but he merely shrugged. "I can't say either way. But I've learned never to doubt Luna."

Hermione silently agreed with Rolf, but she honestly didn't know what to make of what Rolf and Luna had to say. It wasn't much to go on, if anything at all. She was sick of cryptic messages and dead ends. She wanted answers.

So did Ron. He mulled over what Lestrange had said. Perhaps Rolf and Luna had been in the home of Voldemort's servant, whoever the fuck that was. A very old house elf and bricks with the letter 'P' chiseled into them.

"What happened when they moved you?" Ron asked.

"It was only a few days ago," Rolf said. "By then I had stopped eating the food they were giving us because of the Dreamless Sleep. I was trying to conjure up a quail or two and hide it away when two men with masks on their faces stormed in and started dragging us away. I tried to fight them off, hence the shiner, but the next thing I knew they were pushing us toward a portkey which took us to the Lestrange mansion."

"How'd you know it was the Lestrange mansion?"

"Rastaban Lestrange wasn't exactly trying to hide it. He greeted us as his guests before having us locked away."

Ron scoffed. "Sounds like a Lestrange."

The wheels in Hermione's head were turning. "When was this exactly? Do you remember?"

"Two days ago."

"When the wandmakers went missing," Ron and Hermione said at the same time. They looked at each other again.

"Rolf, Luna," Hermine sated quickly. "We're so happy you're all right. But we better let you get some rest now. Feel better and if you remember anything at all, please let us know. Kingsley's taking personal responsibility for you. You'll stay here until this over. Xeno too."

Ron and Hermione soon left the room, more perplexed than ever. Ron briefly related Lestrange's rambling's about Voldemort's servant and his home.

"You think that's where Rolf and Luna were originally taken?" Hermione asked as they made way to Kingsley's office. They wanted to keep him up to date before returning to their assignments.

Ron nodded. "Maybe, but I'm not sure of anything right now."

"But why move them?"

"Who knows? Maybe because they're holding the wandmakers hostage as well. Maybe because Lestrange wanted to toy with them. At this point, all I'm prepared to admit is that I don't have the fucking foggiest clue what's going on."

Hermione shrugged. "Agreed."

Ron noticed the book Hermione was holding. "What do you've got there, _The Abridged Hogwarts: A History?"_

"Very funny, Ronald. No, it's a book Yaxley had. It's very old and it's blank, but I can't shake the feeling it's a clue."

Ron looked more than a little aghast. "A blank book? Better be careful with that, love. It could be cursed or...worse."

Hermione knew he was right. But for some reason, the notion only made her grip it tighter.

They arrived at Kingsley's office to see the welcome site of Molly Weasley. Her and Kingsley were clearly having a chat, and Molly clearly was bearing gifts as she was clutching a large picnic basket.

"Mum, what are you doing here?" Ron asked as he moved to greet his mother, kissing both of her cheeks.

"Making sure the two of you eat something," Molly said with a smile. "You've been running nonstop since this whole mess began. Here," she said as she opened the basket with her wand and began to lay out a spread. "I brought roast pork and asparagus."

"Oh, bless you, Molly," Hermione said with a smile. "I hate to admit it, but I'm rather starving at the moment."

"Of course, dear," Molly said. "I brought tea cakes as well because I know how much the two of you—" Molly had looked up, gone white and nearly toppled over the basket with the start she'd made. Her jaw hung wide open and her eyes were filled with shock.

"Mum?" Ron asked. No answer. "Mum? Mum, what is it?"

Molly didn't look at her son. Her eyes were fixed on Hermione's hands. When she did finally speak, her voice was a trembling whisper.

"Hermione, where in Merlin's name did you find Gideon's diary?"


	8. 8: Knights, Rooks, Pawns, Prewetts

_**I know, I know I'm finally back with an update. Shame on me for taking so very long. I have no excuses except to say real life has been beyond crazy. Please read and review. I've got an also update for Seventh Son coming up later this week. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate everyone's reviews and comments. It really is like oxygen to a writer. So Please Read and Review! XOXO-Kay.**_

 _ **Knights, Rooks, Pawns,**_ _ **Prewetts**_

Bill's head was throbbing like he'd just gotten whacked with seventeen Bludgers. He couldn't open his eyes without a sharp, slicing pain tearing through his entire build. "Uggh," he groaned softly as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

He couldn't tell if he was spinning around the room, or if the room was spinning around him. Things slowly came to focus as he tried to concentrate through the pain. It wasn't easy, as he couldn't tell which part of him was injured.

He didn't know why or how he'd gotten injured. He tried to move his arms but found that he couldn't. He slowly held his head up and realized that his arms were bound above his head and locked with a chain. He tried to move his feet and discovered that they were bound to a chair.

Terror filled his heart as he realized he didn't have his wand. Where was it? Where, for that matter, _**was he**_?

He tried to think, tried to remember and received a pounding headache in return. He swallowed slowly and forced himself into a measure of clarity. It all came back. Gringotts The Prewett records. Rubrum.

As his latest memories came through the haze, he took note of his surroundings. His pain was almost overcome by his shock as he realized he was in a room which no one had been able to enter for over a decade.

Rubrum, The House of Prewett. He was inside his grandmother's parlor. He was inside his mother's childhood home. There was a candle lit on the nearby unlit fireplace. He could barely make anything out, but he could tell that the place looked largely as he remembered it with the addition of a sufficient amount of dust. Of course, Bill had no idea how he'd gotten there.

Had the goblins done this to him? He couldn't recall. He concentrated and his last memories came flooding to him.

As soon as he had stepped inside the house, he'd been hit with _ **something**_. From the way he was feeling, he almost thought it was the Cruciatius Curse. But he dismissed it. Goblins didn't know how to use that curse. Or did they? If the goblins could keep this house as a hideaway, maybe they were capable of much more.

Right now, he didn't really have time to ponder the notion. He had to focus on getting free. As far as he could tell, he was alone in the room. He knew he wasn't alone in the house. He also knew he didn't have his wand. Goblin magic was not to be trifled with on your best day. Wandless, he didn't know if he stood a chance. He did know he had to try.

" _Uanescere_ ," he whispered in an attempt to destroy the ropes. Nothing happened. He barely felt his magic at all. Wandless Magic had never been his foray, but he knew he should've felt something, other than the crippling feeling of weakness that threatened to send him into unconsciousness again. " _Uanescere_ _,"_ he tried again and again there was no effect. "Fuck," came his angry whisper.

He was hit with the realization that his magic wasn't going to help him here. That he was at the mercy of thieving goblins who had commandeered his mother's house. He tried to conjure up his Patronus to send to Fleur, but he couldn't.

He was gathering his strength to attempt to free himself again when the door opened rather quickly, and the candle blew out.

 _Vicit_ _et_ _Validum_

Hermione's confusion was as evident as Molly's shock. She had no idea what her mother-in-law was talking about until she noticed that her eyes were fixed on the book that Yaxley had in his possession.

"Gideon's diary?" harmonized Ron and Kingsley, both voices high with query.

Ron hadn't the foggiest idea what his mother was on about but then he noticed that Kingsley's eyes had locked onto the book Hermione was holding as well, almost as if he recognized it, but didn't believe he was seeing it.

"It can't be, can it?" Kingsley asked Molly, who had already taken ten steps towards Hermione.

"I don't know...I'm not sure," she said, barely registering a word anyone else was saying. She reached out her hand and Hermione handed her the book, unsure of what else to do.

Ron didn't know what was going on, but he knew he didn't want his mother near that thing. "Mum, we found that with Yaxley. Maybe you don't want to mess about with it."

But Molly paid her son no attention. She reached for the book, handling it carefully, almost as if it were precious. She held it up to her nose and inhaled. Tears filled her eyes.

"Kingsley, look, _ **it's Fabian's**_ Phoenix log. You can only tell the difference if you know what to look for. Like the two of them, I guess. Like Fred and George" she said softly as she walked over to the fireplace in his office, never letting go of the book.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a perplexed, questioning glance at Kingsley darted over to Molly's side.

"Holy shit," they heard Kingsley say as he looked at the book in the light of the fire. "Are you sure?"

"It's definitely his, Kingsley. Look it's a thunderbird, that was his Patronus. Gideon's was an owl, and look and the Prewett Jaguar and the Phoenix," Molly's voice was practically singsong as she turned the book over to verify the faded markings.

"Mum," Ron said finally, his already strained patience evaporating. "What are you on about? What does that book have to do with Uncle Fabian?"

Kingsley's eyes seemed faraway and watery as he met Ron's gaze. "This, Ron, is a book that members of the Order of the Phoenix carried with them, to log what they were doing and a record of events in case anything happened to them. Gideon's and Fabian's have never been recovered. We thought the Death Eaters burned them. We knew they would not be able to decode them."

Ron felt a tremor of emotion as Kingsley spoke. He had few memories of his uncles and he was always uncertain of the ones he did have, they felt more like stories that people had just implanted in his brain over time. But their deaths hung over his family, a Dark Mark that had never truly faded away.

He watched his mother fight back tears as she looked over the book and he felt all the anger he usually did when he thought of what had been stolen from them. Molly stepped back from the fireplace and put the book on Kingsley's desk. Everyone gathered around the desk to look more closely. Molly swallowed a sob and Kingsley cleared his throat.

"I still have Marlene's," he said softly, and Molly looked at him thoughtfully. It was then that Ron remembered that his parents had a life before their seven children. That they had lived through the First War, and all that war had stolen from them, he would never fully comprehend. But if it was anywhere close to what the war had stolen from him, he knew there would be no forgetting it.

The old friends shared a sad, knowing smile and Kingsley held his palm out to a bookcase. " _Accio_ Phoenix log." A weathered, black leather book nearly identical to the one that once belonged to Fabian Prewett lifted off the shelf and flew into Kingsley's hand. "Of course," Kingsley said with a soft, deep sadness. "No one will ever open this one."

Now Hermione knew where she'd seen one before. But then a thought struck her.

"Kingsley, why wouldn't they be able to decode it?"

Molly responded before Kingsley could. "Because Hermione dear, the only thing that can do that is blood. _Secare_ _parvus_ _,"_ she added in a hushed tone and winced slightly as a small cut opened on her thumb.

She placed her bloodied finger on the spine of the book. " _Revelio_ _."_

The pages that were once blank filled in with dates, but nothing else.

Ron rolled his eyes. "How enlightening." He received an elbow in the ribs from his wife and his mother in response.

"Phoenix logs work like penseives," Kingsley said as he fought back a chuckle. "You can guess whose idea that was. You must jump into them. The question that perplexes me is why would Yaxley have this?"

Molly shook her head. "I've no idea. He wasn't there, well at least as far as I know, when they were killed." Everyone could see that it was a difficult thing for her to talk about.

Ron grasped an arm around her shoulder. "It's okay," he told her softly. "It's okay." She smiled up at her youngest son, who had inherited the height of both his lineages and fought back tears. She could see a bit of a resemblance between him and her brothers that she had never noticed (or maybe had never allowed herself to notice) before.

"Maybe it was the Dark Lord's Servant," Kingsley said thoughtfully.

Ron looked over at his mentor. "What?"

Kingsley looked thoughtful again. "The Dark Lord's Servant. Think about it, whoever's doing this is someone Voldemort trusted, someone Voldemort knew. Someone he trusted because they were smart enough to never get caught."

"You think whoever's doing this might have had something to do with my uncles' murder?" the thought that they might've been connected had never occurred to Ron. Needless to say, in the midst of everything that had been going on, the brutal murder of his uncles had not been on his mind.

Kingsley nodded. "This, whatever it all is, it didn't start with the Second War. It didn't start with Harry."

"From what was thought vanquished," Hermione said, and Ron could see her brain working. "Maybe it's the answer we're looking for."

"Should I?" Ron asked Kingsley glancing at the book and back to his mother. These were memories of someone he had never known. What would it be like to live inside his uncle's mind? The thought unsettled him, and yet somehow, he knew the words Kingsley would say in response before the man opened his mouth.

"I don't think you have a choice."

Ron nodded, though he didn't actually agree. Ron turned the book to the entry, "May 14th, 1981". It was a date both he and his mother knew all too well, even though Ron didn't remember it at all. It was the day his uncles had been murdered. They day the Prewett line had died out.

He stared at it for a long moment. That book was the closest thing his uncle Fabian ever gotten to a last will and testament. He died fighting for what believed in. Like he would. Like they all would if it came to that. Not because they didn't have a choice, because they did.

"I have a choice" he said finally. "Just like they did. The thing is, I've made it already. Just like they did. If there's answers in there, I'm going to find them. Whatever it takes, I'm going to end this."

Hermione walked over to him and gripped his had

"I'm coming with you."

"You should stay with Mum," Ron protested. When he saw the look on her face, he persisted, "It's just a book 'Mione," he told her reassuringly. "We've faced worse. And besides, it's my uncle's book, not Voldemort's."

"I don't care, I'm going with you. Whatever's in there, I want to be there with you."

Ron looked at her for a moment, his filled with adoration. "I won't argue with you, love."

"Because you know you'd lose," was her quick and characteristic retort. She smiled up at him, laughing to herself at the fact that even amid all the horror, they still managed to be soppy about each other.

"We'll be back," Hermione said as she took his hand. "If there's any answers in there, we'll find them." She looked at the book with some apprehension, after everything they'd gone through and were currently going through, apprehension seemed only appropriate.

"Just...jump?" Ron asked Kingsley looking at the diary, wondering what dark secrets it held.

"Jump," Kingsley concurred. "It's the last memory, so once...it ends, you should pop back out."

Ron nodded. God, he wished Harry was there. Harry was always cool-headed in these types of situations. Multiple brushes with death would do that to you, apparently. Ron, on the other hand, couldn't hide his trepidation. Maybe it was because it was personal to him, maybe because he didn't want to witness any more horror. Maybe because it would all be for naught. Somehow, though, he didn't think it would be.

Still, he knew they had to end it. If his uncle's memories held the key, then fears be damned, they were going in.

"'Mione," Ron said with a deep breath. "Let's end this, yeah?"

Hermione stared at her husband for a second, searching his eyes. He had that look on his face, the same one he had when he mounted a black horse on a giant chessboard all those years ago.

"Yeah," she softly. "Let's." Kingsley placed the diary open on the floor.

"Be careful," he told them. "It's a memory, remember. You can't change it, no matter how much you want to."

Ron nodded as he took his Hermione's hand.

"Why do I feel like we're about to face a giant three-headed dog?" Hermione whispered softly right before they dove into the pages.

If they had expected to land immediately, how mistaken they were. It seemed as if they fell through and all they could hear was a loud, overpowering rustling.

When they reached stillness, Kingsley's office had disappeared. They found that they were in a large parlor, one neither could place, but to Ron, something about it seemed vaguely familiar.

"Did you owl Molly?" called an unknown, yet somehow familiar voice.

Ron turned around to find very tall, very ginger figures standing by the fireplace.

"I didn't want to risk it. She's worried enough as it is," the other one said, and he brushed his longer red hair away of his face. Ron gasped.

"That's Fabian," he whispered, even though he knew they couldn't hear him.

"Well, I guess she should be worried," said the other who Hermione realized was Gideon. The family resemblance was striking.

"They look like Fred and George," Hermione whispered softly.

"I know," Ron said as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. He saw traces of his grandparents and his mother as well. But he could've sworn it was five years earlier and he was laughing with his brothers.

"With the way things are going, Molly might never get to stop worrying," Gideon said bringing Ron and Hermione's attention to them again.

"True," Fabian conceded with a smile. "Are you ready for tonight?" he asked, his voice suddenly serious.

Gideon shrugged. "We know what we have to do. We just must do it. We know where they are."

"They might know where we are," Fabian said darkly. "They're leaks and traitors around every fucking corner."

"So, what do you want to do, not go?" Gideon asked, aghast.

"Of course not. We _**can't**_ not go," Fabian said. "With the way it's going, You-Know-Who may actually win. I don't like this."

"Well, no one likes this. It's a bloody war. But we have to fight. If we don't fight, You-Know-Who has won already, And I'll support Finland in Quidditch before I let that happen."

Hermione chuckled. It seems Quidditch devotion went back more than a few years in Ron's family.

Ron's shaky, unsure memories of his uncles combined with family photos and what his brothers had told him couldn't compare to what he was watching unfold before him. To see them, as real as he would ever see them. He wanted to hug them, wanted to hold them, wanted to somehow drag them out of this memory and give them both to his mother. The fact that he couldn't, the fact that he knew they wouldn't live much longer, that they would never age a day after this very nearly broke his heart.

Tears filled his eyes, and he blinked them back, willing himself to focus. The past was written. There was nothing he could do to change it. He had to focus on the future, on stopping whatever it was that was hell-bent on destroying them.

"Right then," Fabian said as he put down a glass of what looked like Scotch. "Let's go. Rendezvous with Mad-Eye and Aberforth at the Hog's Head in five hours."

"They don't have five hours," Ron said in what had to be the saddest tone Hermione had heard since Fred died. "They'll be dead before then."

"Ron, we can't change that. We would've done the same had it come to that. Technically, it did come to that for Harry, anyway. It's a lesson Voldemort never learned: there are some things worth dying for."

"That doesn't make it any easier."

"No, but at the very least, it wasn't in vain. They fought. They would fight again. Just like we all would. You can't keep Gryffindors away from a fight. You taught me that better anyone."

Ron scoffed dryly. "Gryffindors: first ones in, even if they don't come out."

Hermione took his hand and squeezed it "Come on, we've got to keep up."

"Hermione, it's a memory. We go where it goes."

"Oh, true. Brilliant."

And the memory was going on. Gideon and Fabian were Disapparating to parts unknown.

They now found themselves in a dark forest, one that seemed familiar and yet neither Ron nor Hermione could give it a name.

They watched as Gideon and Fabian crouched into a nearby fallen branch. The two young men aimed their wands and Hermione saw what appeared to be an abandoned cabin in the clearing of the forest. Gideon and Fabian wordlessly shined two beams from their wands at a window in the cabin.

Hermione gripped Ron's hand as two small beams of light appeared in the window correspondingly.

Bile role in Ron's throat, as he knew his uncles were walking into a trap. The Aurors they were supposed to be meeting, by that time, were already dead.

And five Death Eaters were lying in wait inside that damned, blasted cabin.

"Good, they're here," Fabian said in a voice that resonated relief. Hermione never knew that such a positive sound could be so heartbreaking. Maybe this was why it wasn't wise to know the future.

They followed Ron's destined to be forever young uncles into the cabin, knowing what was to come, and yet still wanting to stop it, to change it somehow. They both knew the unpredictable and often dangerous consequences of time travel, but Ron really felt he could've risked it, would've risked it if meant he could have changed the scene in front of him.

Before they opened the door, Fabian paused. "Hold up," he said softly.

" _Protego_ _,"_ Fabian said softly, before they entered the building.

Ron probably realized it was that one move that had stopped his uncles being killed immediately. The melee began immediately.

In the darkness of the secluded cabin, Ron could see the wands sparking and firing as Fabian and Gideon put up their shield charms and fired counter-Jinxes and curses at every turn.

Ron recognized a few of the Death Eaters, Roldophus Lestrange, Rosier, Karakoff, and Crabbe and Goyle Senior to round it off. Anguish and disgust filled Ron with equal measure as he forced himself to watch the scene unfolding.

One thing he gathered was that Mad-Eye had been right: Gideon and Fabian fought like heroes, throwing expertly aimed curses and dueling like world champions. Ron was proud, and yet forlorn knowing it wouldn't be enough.

It was all fairly evenly matched until Karakoff (the wiliest of the evil group) fired a disintegrating curse at the table that had offered Fabian and Gideon some protection.

The two didn't cower, they stood up and looked the Death Eaters in the eyes.

"Surrender now," said Lestrange with an evil sneer. "Your blood is pure, even if your minds are defiled. We will spare you. Only give up the mudblood-loving cause of that fool Dumbledore. Can you not see? Magic is Might."

"Never," Gideon spat. "Do you hear me? Never! I'll die first."

Karakoff smiled. "You shall get your wish." Ron felt tears blurring his eyes. He wanted to squeeze the eyes out of his smug face.

Gideon aimed his wand, undaunted. "Not if you're not around to grant it."

" _Avada_ _kedarva_ _,"_

" _Stupefy!"_

The wands and the curses fired, and though they could not be harmed by them, Ron and Hermione felt instinctually felt the need to dodge them and stay out of the way.

Gideon fired a _bombarda_ brought a shelf down on Karakoff, all while dodging a Killing Curse from Rosier. Fabian _wingardium_ _leviosa_ -ed Crabbe Sr. out a window.

Just when it seemed like Gideon and Fabian would best their opponents, ropes from nowhere came out from where the young Prewetts were standing. Clearly someone had cast an _incarcerous_ , but it wasn't anyone in the room because everyone seemed surprised by the ropes.

Gideon and Fabian fired all sorts of curses at the ropes that were encircling their wrists and arms and their legs, pulling them into the walls of the cabin, leaving them completely incapacitated.

They struggled to break free and Ron had to keep reminding himself that it was a memory, that he couldn't help them, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much every instinct, every nerve, every fiber, every cell of him wanted to.

"You can't do anything," Hermione whispered as she clutched his hand. "You can't. I know you want to, so do I, but we can't. We just can't."

As she spoke the words, the unmistakable sound of someone Apparating.

Suddenly, all the Death Eaters were preparing to bow, and there was no question to who was getting ready to enter.

Ron gasped as Voldemort's unmistakable form cast a shadow on the walls. He was just as shadowy, just as shifty, just as smoke as he ever was.

He walked slowly and leisurely as if he had nowhere in particular to be. For one someone completely and totally paranoid and power obsessed, the bastard could appear remarkably cool when he chose to.

Ron didn't know if it was because it was a memory, or if was because Voldemort was at the height of his power at this time, but he seemed even uglier than Ron had ever seen him.

He looked around the room, smiling jovially at his loyal subjects. "Good work, my friends," he said in somewhat of a hiss. "We shall deal with these traitors, as we deal with all traitors."

In a small flourish of his hand, Voldemort had stripped Fabian and Gideon of their wands. They clattered to the ground and Voldemort turned them into ash.

"Well, what do we have here?" he asked coldly as he looked up at the bound brothers. "There's no need for those ropes now, is there? After all, they've nowhere to go."

He released the brothers and they dropped in heap to the ground. He surveyed them curiously, as if they really were an oddity to him. "In every war, there are soldiers. Just like in chess. And in case you haven't noticed, I'm winning this war. I've taken the knights, the rooks, the pawns, and now the Prewetts. I must say, I had certainly expected better. Ah, Gideon and Fabian. A long and noble lineage, full of accomplishments. And here you are, betraying the blood that runs in your veins. Tsk, tsk, tsk, I'll never understand it."

"Shall we kill the filthy traitors now, my lord?" Roldophus asked.

"No so hasty. Magical blood is not be spilled unnecessarily, especially blood as pure as theirs. We must give them a chance, after all, I am a fair and just Lord. Fabian, Gideon, be reasonable. You can stand with us, fight for the purity and superior of wizards and witches or you can die, and you can die for nothing. For what good are Muggles in this world? They are meant to be servants, unfit for anything but subjugation. Give up this foolish cause, join us. We shall take care of you, of your entire family. Your family is noble and pure. Such is not to be wasted in times like these. Join us."

Hermione shuddered at Voldemort's dark words. He remained unflappable, cold and detached, despite the pure evil that ran through his blood. She wanted to kill him, even though she knew he was already dead.

Fabian and Gideon rose slowly to their feet. They took one look at each other and then looked away. They squared their shoulders and turned to face Voldemort, turned to face what they knew would be their deaths.

"Never," they said in such unison, Ron could've sworn he was listening to Fred and George.

"Kill them," Voldemort in the same tone he'd been using since he'd arrived.

Roldophus raised his wand. "No, no my dear Lestrange," Voldemort objected. "No magic for them. Kill them in the Muggle fashion, they'll prefer it."

Before the Prewett twins could move, Roldophus had apparated behind Fabian and stabbed him with a dagger. Ron felt his blood turn into ice, as he watched his Uncle collapse to the ground.

"NO!" came Gideon's anguished cry. Ron had heard that cry before, he had hoped he would never hear it again. Gideon hadn't taken a single step before Voldemort had Stupefied him, forcing him to watch his brother gasp and gurgle in agony, battling for life—and losing.

"Him next," Voldemort said casually as if he was checking off a list. Roldophus prepared to strike Gideon.

"My lord," cried Rosier. "Perhaps we should con—,"

And with that the memory ended. "No!" Ron yelled in vain as he found himself being pushed out of the past, back into the uncertain present with no answers he could deem satisfactory.

The memory ended as Fabian did, a harsh, unsettling reality that Hermione couldn't help but ponder as she became aware that she was once again in Kingsley's office crumpled on the floor, her mother-in-law and her mentor staring down at her with concern, confusion and worry.

Ron got to his feet first and pulled her up along with him. He was too shaken to talk, too disturbed to articulate what he'd just seen. He leaned back on Kingsley's desk, trying not to scream, trying not to cry.

Kingsley noticed his state and immediately poured him a glass of Firewhiskey.

"Here," he said. "Drink this. Whatever you saw, it'll help."

Ron didn't hesitate, he took the glass and downed the whiskey in one gulp. It didn't seem to burn as it usually did.

Molly and Kingsley didn't ask, they wanted to, but they didn't. They just stood there, waiting for the two to gather their bearings. Both looked like they had just lived through the war again.

When Molly could bear the silence no longer, she hazarded a question.

"What did you two see?"

Ron couldn't answer her. He was still processing the whole thing. Hermione took a long exhalation.

"We saw Fabian and Gideon," she said, her voice slow and far away. "And the...the fight. Voldemort was there."

"Did you see—?" Kingsley trailed off, but Ron knew what he was asking.

"We saw Fabian, the memory ended before Gideon..." Hermione didn't finish her sentence, but she didn't have to.

Ron blinked back tears and cleared his throat. He could cry later. He could cry when it was done, if it would ever be.

"I still don't know why Yaxley would have this," Hermione said, her voice laced with disappointment. "We're missing something. There's something we're not seeing."

"I agree," Ron said. "But I don't know what. Why would Yaxley be caring this around? What do my Uncles have to do with any of this?"

Hermione paced around the office for a few minutes, thinking. "Rosier," she said softly.

"What about him?" Ron asked.

"He was making a suggestion," Hermione continued. "To You-Know...to Voldemort. That was where the memory ended. I wonder what it was."

Ron shuddered. "I don't know if I want to know."

Hermione had barely heard Ron. The wheels turning in her head were drowning out everything else. She thought back to Trelawney's first prophecy, Dean's murder, her conversation with Viktor, the missing wand makers, the missing Elder Wand.

It all meant something; it was all connected somehow. But how? And why did Yaxley have Fabian Prewett's Phoenix log? Nothing made sense.

But it had to make sense, someway it was all connected. The dots were there, almost too far apart and zigzagged to connect, but someway they did. But was the question why or how?

She thought about Voldemort and she really wished Harry was there. Harry had an understanding of that evil man that no one else did. Harry probably would have been able to see something, to pick out something that they were missing.

Obsessed with immortality, with power, with control, Voldemort had laced together an intricate spider web that was now closing in on them all.

"Nothing that has happened has been an accident," Hermione said slowly. "And Yaxley having that diary is not an accident, the question is why. And what does it have to do with everything else?"

Ron didn't know if he could think anymore, he was tired of thinking, tired of trying to put together all these pieces together. Why couldn't have just ended when Voldemort dropped dead? Why, after five years, were people still dying, why did they still have to fight, why was there still a fight to be fought?

Hermione went to sit in a chair trying to think, trying to see clearly through the haze of everything they knew and everything they didn't.

And then something struck her. "Ron!" she nearly screamed.

Ron rushed over to her, clearly alarmed "What? Love, what is it?"

"In the room, wh—where Fabian and Gideon were, there were 'P's on the bricks."

Ron's confusion was clear. "What?"

"On the bricks, behind the fireplace, there were 'P's. Like Luna said about the place where they were held captive."

Molly perked up at that. "Well of course, dear. All the bricks at Rubrum have 'P's on them. "That's probably where Gideon and Fabian were."

Ron shook his head. "It couldn't have been where Luna and Rolf were. No one can get into Rubrum," he looked to his mother for confirmation.

"That's right, it's locked by a ward that we haven't been able to open since my brothers died. It must've been somewhere else."

Hermione shook her head. "But remember what Luna said, about the P being inside a upside down triangle. That's what it looked like, I'm sure of."

"'Mione, that's impossible," Ron persisted.

"Ron, what about this whole thing has seemed possible?" Hermione knew when she was right, and she wasn't backing down from her point.

That was a point Ron had to concede. "But what would Voldemort want with Rubrum?"

"I don't know, Ron," Hermione admitted with frustration. "But there's got to be a connection. Why else would Yaxley would have this diary?"

Before anyone else could respond, Fleur and Ginny burst into Kingsley's office.

"Bill's missing!"


End file.
